The Tale of Tom Riddle
by Torrential Zephyr
Summary: This is the tale of Tom Riddle, and his journey towards becoming the Dark Lord. Throughout the story, he learns about his family's past, and is forced to endure hardships. Chapter 6 is finished - please read/review; thanks!
1. The Tale of Tom Riddle Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**          The characters and idea of this fan fiction come from the mind of J.K. Rowling

**Summary:**             Little is known about Tom Marvolo Riddle (other than the fact that he was an orphan, disowned by his Muggle father).  This is how I imagine young Lord Voldemort's life to have been.  

**A/N:**                       I honestly don't know what prompted me to write a story about Tom Riddle.  It seemed like it might be an interesting story…  Admit it—you want to see the world from Tom's perspective…

The Tale of Tom Riddle

Chapter 1

June 6th, 1938

Sitting alone in a darkened corner reading, a raven-haired ten-year-old boy sat yearning to be one of the characters his book.  The powerful wizard, Saruman, in his book, The Hobbit, left Tom enchanted.

The weeks passed slowly, the only thing for the young boy to look forward to being his eleventh birthday.  Birthdays, though nothing extravagant, broke up the monotony of the boy's life.

The boy woke up on July 16th, his birthday, and smiled.  Would anyone remember?  Of course someone would, he answered himself, they always do.  He began his usual routine: he got dressed, made his bed, and went to eat breakfast in the large dining room.  Before he had reached the room, however, an ageless, plump woman by the name of Gwendolyn approached him.

"Tom, dear," she said, causing the boy to glance up, "You've received a letter.  It was very curious—it is Sunday… there's supposed to be no post on Sundays.  Oh, and happy birthday, dear.  We're making spaghetti for dinner.  Sue and I know it's your favorite."

Tom smiled his thanks as he took the letter from Gwendolyn's hand.  He had never received a letter from anyone in his life.  Indeed, there was really no one to send the letters.  Tom's mother had died giving birth to him, and his father, whom he was named after, had refused to acknowledge Tom as being his son, a fact that had left Tom, who had spent his entire childhood living in an orphanage, angry on more occasions than one.  However, it was thanks to the generosity of Gwendolyn and Sue that Tom had been able to survive these ten long years.  Every year he had seen his best friends adopted by kind couples—torn between sadness at losing a friend, and jealousy at not being chosen instead.

However, Tom was determined not to let any unhappy thoughts ruin his birthday, or the joy of receiving his first letter.  Hastily, Tom tore open the envelope, which looked to be made of extremely old paper, and was emblazoned with a crest Tom had never seen before—a large 'H' surrounded by a lion, snake, badger, and raven.  What Tom read made his jaw drop.

'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

`~`~`

Headmaster:  Armando Dippet

Dear Mr. Tom Riddle,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins September 1.  We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore 

Deputy Headmaster'

He glanced up to look for Gwendolyn, but she was nowhere to be found.  Suddenly, Tom's head was filled with questions:  Is this just a prank?  Is it just something to ruin his eleventh birthday?  What does it mean, 'we await your owl'?  Who are Dippet and Dumbledore?  Thinking quickly, Tom rushed through the orphanage searching for Gwendolyn.

"Gwendolyn!" he called when he finally found her helping a young boy make his bed.  "Do you have any idea what this is?" he asked waving the letter in front of him.

She shook her head as she finished pulling the covers to the head of the bed, then walked over to Tom, and read the letter.  In a hushed voice she asked, "Who sent this to you?"

"I don't know… there was no address.  Do you understand it?"

"No, of course I don't.  Let's talk to Mr. McFarland."  Mr. McFarland was the elderly owner of the orphanage, and tended to be particularly nasty towards the children.  Tom shuddered, but conceded.

Gwendolyn rapped softly on Mr. McFarland's door to announce their arrival.

"Come in," he snapped.

"Sir," Gwendolyn said as the door snapped closed behind her, "Tom received a curious letter this morning.  As you know, it's Sunday—Tom should have received no mail at all…"

"Let me see it then," Mr. McFarland said impatiently.

He read the letter a moment before looking at Tom with the utmost revulsion on his face.  "I know what you're thinking.  No, this is no hoax.  A girl your age received a letter like _yours_ nearly fifteen years ago.  She went off to that school and came back every summer with such a look of superiority…" He drifted off for a moment before continuing.

"The only reason I let _her_ go, and the only reason I shall let _you_ go, is because that's one less mouth to feed."

Gwendolyn gaped in horror at the cruelty Mr. McFarland was bestowing on Tom.  Sure, he was awful most of the time, but _nothing_ compared to this.

Tom, however, seemed nonplussed.  "So… she—er—liked it there?"

Mr. McFarland scoffed.  "Of course she did!  But don't expect _me_ to pay for you, you little urchin.  Marie, somehow, earned the money herself."

Tom suddenly felt hopeless.  He had never had money; despite the fact his father's family was quite wealthy.  "I hate being an orphan," Tom muttered below his breath.

"Don't worry about that, Tom," Gwendolyn consoled as she steered him out of the office.  Once in the hallway, she bent until she was eye-level with Tom.  She looked him in the eye and said, "Tom, I'm going to pay for you to go to Hogwarts.  I've always reserved a place in my heart for you, and have often wished I could adopt you…  However, my financial situation is… meager to say the least.  My heart has broken so many times as I watched you live your lonely childhood in this prison.  I just want you to have the chance to be happy."

Stunned, Tom couldn't speak.  Finally, he was able to whisper, "Are you serious?"

"Yes," she answered, her eyes filling with tears.  "When September 1st arrives, you shall be on that train with your classmates.  Right now, let's concentrate on getting your supplies and preparing you for—for going away for months and months."

The next months left Tom so anxious with anticipation he could barely stand it.  Mr. McFarland had told him and Gwendolyn where they could buy Tom's supplies, and they had gone to London and spent the day in Diagon Alley purchasing his materials.  By mistake, the duo had happened upon Knockturn Alley, which captivated Tom as he gazed in the store windows, which showed darkened rooms filled with mysterious objects.  After returning to the orphanage, Tom immediately immersed himself in reading the books of spells and history of magic he had purchased.  

By the time August 31st rolled around, Tom knew nearly every spell by heart, and was feeling very confident in his abilities.  He and Gwendolyn had spent the day stowing away his belongings in preparation for the train ride to Hogwarts.  Mr. McFarland had told Tom, though reluctantly, how to reach the Hogwarts Express.  I really do owe him some kind of thanks, Tom thought.  When I come back for the summer holidays, I won't turn him into a toad, he decided, smiling bitterly.

On September 1st, Gwendolyn led Tom through the crowd as she pushed his trolley towards Platform 9 ¾.  Upon reaching the barrier between platforms nine and ten, she was unable to control her tears.  "Tom, dear, promise you'll write me every chance you get?"

"I promise," he said, hugging her reassuringly.  "I'll be fine, I promise."  Waving one last time, Tom walked directly at the wall, until he found himself facing a scarlet steam engine.  In awe, Tom wheeled his trolley to a man who was loading the train, and then approached a compartment that looked empty.

"Oops… sorry about that," he apologized when he realized there were already two boys sitting in the compartment.

The tallest boy, thin with pale blonde hair, extended a hand to Tom and smiled, "Hello.  I'm Letifer Malfoy.  Is this your first year at Hogwarts?" he asked in a silky voice.

"Yes," Tom said, extending his own hand to grasp Letifer's.  "Is this your first year, as well?"

"Yes, of course, I've known about Hogwarts my entire life.  My father worked here for years as the potions master, but he quit after last year, which is really too bad—then I would have been guaranteed top marks in _one_ class," he laughed, and Tom and the other boy joined in.

"This is my friend, Max Alton.  Our fathers have been friends since they went to Hogwarts, so we've grown up together."  Tom nodded to Max.

"What house do you think you'll be in, Tom?" Letifer asked.

"Er—house?"  Tom replied, utterly clueless.

"Oh you weren't raised in a wizarding household?" Letifer asked, suddenly eyeing Tom differently.

"No… I mean, I've been in an orphanage all my life—my parents both died.  My mum and dad were wizards, though," he lied, hoping against hope that at least some of that was true—after all, he really knew nothing about his parents.  For all he knew, they could have been wizards.

The hours on the train passed pleasantly for Tom as he, Letifer, and Max talked to one another.  Tom was happy in knowing that, for the first time in his existence, he wouldn't have to worry about his friends ever being taken away from him again.

Nevertheless, Tom was extremely anxious to get to Hogwarts and be sorted.  After he had redeemed himself by explaining that his parents were, indeed, wizards, Letifer had proceeded to describe the four houses, Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw.  When the time came that the train pulled to a stop and the Hogwarts students finally approached the massive building, Tom was wishing with all his might that he be sorted into Slytherin.

As the moment neared for first years to be sorted, Tom stood surrounded by nervous first years that kept telling each other what each individual must do to be sorted.  Each tale became more horrific than the next.

"—My brother told me we have to face a _dragon_, and cut out its eye!"

"Oh that's just stupid!  We have to turn the Headmaster into a sheep—I read all about it!"

Tom became nervous as he listened to the stories.  Perhaps Letifer had been wrong in thinking that they only had to place a shabby old hat on their heads to be sorted…

Finally, the moment of truth arrived.  A man with long, auburn colored hair and beard and piercing blue eyes ushered the first years into the large Great Hall, where they stood gazing, transfixed, as a hat, placed on a stool, began to shout a poem.  When it had finished, and the applause had subsided, the professor with auburn hair cleared his throat, and gave instructions to the group.

"There are four houses at Hogwarts, each named after one of the founding witches or wizards:  Goderic Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin.   To be sorted, come forward, and place the hat upon your head, and it will decide where best to put you."

He pulled out a roll of parchment, and began calling names.

"ALTON, MAX!"  Through the crowd, Tom saw Max swallow as he strode to the hat.  After a moment, the hat called, "Slytherin!" and cheers erupted from a table near Tom.

After students had become Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins (Letifer Malfoy among them), the professor came to his name.

"RIDDLE, TOM!"  Tom walked forward, not knowing what to expect.  He carefully placed the hat on his head, and a little voice spoke in his ear.

"Ah… You've returned," the voice proclaimed.

"Er—returned?" Tom questioned softly.

"The blood of Salazar Slytherin flows in your veins.  You must take advantage of this.  Remember this knowledge.  Embrace it.  Indeed, you are destined for greatness—better be, SLYTHERIN!"

Relief swept over Tom as he walked to his friends, who were cheering as loud as any of the Slytherins.

When all the first years had finally been sorted, the headmaster, Professor Dippet, rose, trying to get the attention of the room.  The professor with auburn hair silently raised a hand, and the room fell silent.

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Dippet said in an undertone.  "Welcome to a new school year!  I welcome all new and returning students warmly.  There is but one item of importance we must discuss—due to an unfortunate event that occurred last year, the forest just outside the school grounds is strictly forbidden to all students.  Now, please enjoy this meal, and have a pleasant first day of classes!"

Magically, the golden plates sitting on each of the long house tables filled with food.  Tom hungrily began shoveling the food into his mouth, half-heartedly participating in Letifer and Max's conversation, still contemplating what the hat had whispered into his ear.

The next week was the best week of Tom's life.  For the first time, he felt he could belong somewhere.  Already, he was at the top of his class—the studying over the summer had paid off—and was adored by teachers and students alike

However, despite the joy he felt knowing that he wasn't just a kid in an orphanage anymore, Tom felt empty.  Something about what the hat had said to him…  The desire to know what the hat had meant by commanding him to "embrace" the knowledge that he was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin became over-powering.  After nearly a month at Hogwarts, the sensation became totally over-whelming, and Tom decided he would spend every spare moment at the library learning anything and _everything _about Salazar Slytherin…

*~*~*

"Tom what do you think?"  Letifer asked.  "Tom?  _Tom!_  What are you doing?  You've been reading for ages…  I need help with this potions assignment."

Tom shushed him with a single glance and returned to the book he had been reading, Hogwarts, the Untold Story.  

He had had little trouble wrangling the signed permission slip required to search through the restricted section at the library—Professor Dippet had relented as soon as Tom had requested permission to the usually-forbidden section of the library, and had asked no questions.  After an exhausting search of the section, Madam Peck, the librarian, began herding students out of the library so she could close it for the night.  As the time he had to search the library dwindled, however, the title of this story had intrigued him, and he hoped there would, indeed, be some pivotal information about Salazar Slytherin disclosed within its chapters.

However, as Letifer and Max continued their conversation while simultaneously raising their voices interval by interval, Tom found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on his reading material.  He chanced a glance out the window, to see that the sky had turned a cold, mirthless gray color, and suddenly felt that finding useful information on Slytherin would be impossible.  Indeed, how did he intend to know "useful information" when he happened upon it?  With an exasperated sigh, Tom snapped the book shut.

"I'm going to bed," Tom said in an irritated voice.

Both Letifer and Max looked up at him in confusion, "Are you okay, Tom?" Letifer ventured.

"I'm _fine_!" Tom snapped, and began stalking away from the two boys left wondering the reason for his foul mood.

Fitfully, Tom tossed and turned in his bed surrounded by emerald draperies.  His slumber was plagued with dreams and nightmares in which a disembodied voice whispered to him from the shadows of a cavernous room.  On the floor, there lay coiled a hideous, massive snake, whose eyes seemed to bore into Tom's very soul.  Slowly, the snake averted its eyes, and looked upward, behind Tom.  Following its gaze, Tom found himself at the base of a colossal statue of a man.  Instinctively, he knew the man to be none other than Salazar Slytherin.

Tom awoke with a start, shaking as he recalled the dream.  The dream wasn't particularly frightening, except for the reality of it all.  It seemed as though Tom was in a room within the confines of the castle… but why would there be an enormous snake hidden in the castle?  Still wondering about his dream, he had an uncontrollable urge to read Hogwarts:  The Untold Story.  Feeling as though his legs were moving without the permission of his mind, Tom succumbed to the urge, picked up the heavy, leather-bound book and sat before the diminishing blaze of the common room fire.  Flipping thoughtfully through the first few chapters, Tom came across a passage depicting the founding of Hogwarts.

"Hogwarts was founded in the mid-to late 900s (exact date unknown) by Goderic Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin in order to provide a school for magically-capable children in Britain.  Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin each valued different traits in young witches and wizards.  After a few years of working in harmony with one another, these differences began to strain relationship between Slytherin and Gryffindor.  While Gryffindor felt that any child with magical capabilities should be allowed the chance to attend Hogwarts, Slytherin felt that only children of wizarding parentage should be allowed to Hogwarts.  Many fights ensued from these differences, eventually causing Slytherin to leave the school, but not without the threat that one-day his true heir would seek retribution.  It is rumored that Slytherin built a secret room to be accessed by his heir alone.  However, such a chamber is seemingly inexistent after the many thorough searches conducted throughout the centuries.

_About the Founders:_

**Goderic Gryffindor** is perhaps the most celebrated of all the founders…" 

Tom scoffed, and searched until he found Salazar Slytherin's information.

"**Salazar Slytherin** has proven to be the most mysterious of all the founders.  After a short time at Hogwarts, he abruptly left due to unknown circumstances (thought it is believed to coincide with he and Gryffindor's disdain for one another and their many differences), and appeared to have vanished from all records.  However, there is scant information from his years teaching at Hogwarts.

One of the most interesting capabilities belonging to Slytherin was his ability to speak Parseltongue _(See: conversing with snakes, chapter 38, page 361)_.  Few witches or wizards posses this ability, but it is believed among many that the talent is found more commonly amid Dark witches and wizards.

Another of his legacies is the myth that he built a secret chamber without consulting Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff.  Supposedly, the chamber contains a terrible monster that his heir could use as an instrument to finish the "noble task" of killing all Muggle-born students at Hogwarts.  Though the idea has struck fear into the hearts of many magic folk, exhaustive searches of the castle have mostly likely proven the Chamber of Secrets to be a fabrication of some kind."

Tom sat staring at the book for nearly five minutes before the magnitude of what he had read had finally sunk in.  The two points that had struck him the most were the fact that Slytherin had spoken Parseltongue (which proved to be especially impressive after he read the passage on page 361) and the idea of the existence of a Chamber of Secrets.  As he imagined the chamber, a thought suddenly struck him—his dream!  His dream had been in a forgotten-looking chamber in which stood a statue of Salazar Slytherin; there had also been a monster lying quietly on the stone floor…

A minute sound caused Tom's head to swivel in the direction of the doorway that lead to the dormitories.  Slowly, the shadowed figure stepped into the dimly lit room, and Tom recognized him as Letifer.

Tom wanted desperately to tell him everything he knew and ask for his help and advise, but felt that he really needed to figure this out on his own.

"Hi Letifer," Tom said, nonchalantly, shifting the book so it would be out of his line of sight.

"Hi…  What're you doing down here?  It's the middle of the night."

"Well, I guess I couldn't sleep.  Nightmares.  I thought I would just sit in here until I calmed down."

"Mmm," Letifer said suspiciously.  "Are you planning to go to bed soon?  I could keep you company."

"Um, sure.  I guess I am ready to go back to bed," Tom said, though he had hoped to read more of the library book.  Deciding it might be best to learn about his parents before trying to solve the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets, Tom resolved to speak with Professor Dippet—he needed the truth.

*~*~*

"Excuse me.  Professor Dippet?" Tom asked apprehensively.  "May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Certainly, Tom.  Please, follow me—we can speak in my office."

Once they had been seated in the headmaster's office, Professor Dippet spoke first.  "What's on your mind, Tom?"

Not knowing exactly how to begin, Tom paused for a moment before answering, "It's about my parents, sir.  I want to know about them."

Professor Dippet shifted uncomfortably.  "Ah.  Well, this is difficult, Tom.  As you may or may not know, your mother, Eloise Evanly, was a witch.  She fell in love with a man, Tom Riddle, from Little Hangleton.  You father, however, didn't approve of your mother being a witch, and, most unfortunately, left her to live with his parents.  Your mother lived just long enough to name you, but died afterwards."

"Oh.  I knew my father was alive…  I just—I just never knew why he didn't want me…" He trailed off and Professor Dippet gave him a sympathetic look.

"There, there, Tom," he attempted to console, but he seemed unsure of what to say next.

Tome lifted his chin slightly, determined not to seem weak.  "But what about my other relatives?  Is anybody on my mother's side alive?"

"I'm afraid there is no one.  However, there is a witch I know who was acquainted with members of the Evanly family.  Her name is Ethel Merriwyther.  You may use a school owl if you wish to speak with her."

Nodding once, Tom took his leave.  "Thank you, Professor, I think I may speak with her.  Bye."

"Good day, Mr. Riddle."

_To Be Continued…_

**Second A/N:**  Did anyone notice that Tom wished to be like Saruman (the powerful, good-turned-_evil_ wizard in Lord of the Rings)?  

**Third A/N:**  Yes, well, more than a week after writing this, I realized that the Lord of the Rings Trilogy wasn't written until the fifties!  Does anyone know if Saruman appears in the Hobbit, which was written in 1937?  It's been too many years since I've read it for me to remember.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:**          The characters and idea of this fan fiction come from the mind of J.K. Rowling

**Summary:**             This is my version of Tom Riddle's life, and his journey to evil.

**A/N:**                       Along with a few other minor changes, I changed the date in chapter one—it did say the story began in 1928, but I meant to put 1938.  The Malfoy in this story is not intended to be Lucius Malfoy, but his father (that I created), Letifer.

**'Thank You's:**      **WhetherRose**:  I cannot thank you enough for your reviews!  They have been so helpful, it's unbelievable (especially with grammar/usage—I don't have the patience to edit my fiction _before_ I post it *sigh*).  I enjoy reading your reviews so much—they are very genuine and kind, but extremely helpful at the same time (here's where I plug WhetherRose:  Anyone looking for an _extremely_ well written Harry Potter fiction should read 'A Life Passed By!').  I wanted to thank you for telling me about a phrase I wrote in the Lost Year—"too terribly long."  That was so silly of me!  I've been living in Kansas (and listening to the local jargon) too long!  Thank you, thank you, and thank you!

                                **Babyphatcat13**:  You are my unwavering supporter.  I love that!  You have no idea how great it feels to read the praise you give me!

                                **T.H**:  Thank you for your review!  I'm glad you like the idea of the story—it has been so much fun to write!

                                **Finally, thank you to**:  Azalais Malfoy, Sara Minks, Melissa, my dad, my sister (bob the builder), S. Nicolai, and harrypottermagic32 for leaving reviews!

The Tale of Tom Riddle

Chapter 2

Fall-Christmas, 1938

After his meeting with Armando Dippet, Tom had immediately returned to the Slytherin house common room.  For nearly an hour, he could be seen positioned before the fireplace, gazing intently at the flames, his visage contorted with the look of longing on his face.

Letifer allowed Tom to sit in silence for an hour before expressing concern to his friend.  "Tom?" he ventured warily.

Instantly, Tom appeared to have come out of his trance, for he slowly moved his head and looked at Letifer.  However, he refrained from speaking.

"Are you okay, Tom?" Letifer asked after a moment of silence.

Tom nodded his head, and replied, "Yes, at least I think so.  I spoke with Professor Dippet today.  I asked him about my parents."  Following this statement, he looked at his hands guiltily.  "You see, I didn't know anything about my parents except that my mother was dead, and my father is alive, but didn't acknowledge me."

Disbelief warped Letifer's face, "Then you lied to me?"

Solemnly, Tom nodded.  "I hated to!  But I didn't know anything about my family, and you didn't seem like you were too enthusiastic when you thought I might not be a full-blooded wizard.  I just hoped that at least part of my story was true."

Letifer relaxed, and innocently inquired, "Ok.  So what did Dippet tell you?"

Tom recounted his conversation with the headmaster.

"Your father just _left_ your mother before you were born?  That's horrible!  If I were you, I'd want closure," Letifer stated blatantly.

Giving him a quizzical stare, Tom asked, "Want closure?  What do you mean?"

Letifer rolled his eyes, as though he were explaining the obvious, "Want closure—or revenge.  How can you _live _with yourself knowing that he betrayed you?"

Tom fell silent, and set his head in his hand as he thought about what Letifer had said.

*~*~*

_Dear Miss Ethel Merriwyther,_

_My name is Tom Riddle.  I am the son of the late Eloise Evanly.  My headmaster (Professor Armando Dippet) recently informed me that you had been acquainted with members of my mother's family.  I have lived in the Benevolent Heart Orphanage since I was born, and know little about my family.  Professor Dippet suggested I speak with you about my family._

_Please write me with any information you can about my mother and her relatives.  Anything would be appreciated._

_Sincerely,_

_Tom Marvolo Riddle_

"That should work," Tom said, quietly to himself, as he carefully folded his letter and placed it carefully in his robes.  Though it was not yet passed curfew, Tom felt he should remain reticent, and not disrupt the solemnity of the nearly empty owlery.

Tom walked towards a large tawny owl that hooted at the sight of Tom.  Because Tom had no owl of his own, the few times he had wanted to send a letter, he would have to use one of the school's owls.  Careful not to irritate the large owl, Tom attached his letter to her leg.  

"Please get this letter to Ethel Merriwyther," he said, offering the owl a bit of bread from dinner.

*~*~*

Tom had barely been able to concentrate on his studies as he anxiously awaited his reply from Ethel Merriwyther.  Indeed, he was extremely apprehensive as he wondered whether the tawny owl would be able to find her.  Tom had been unable to ask Professor Dippet for her address.

However, after waiting nearly three weeks, Tom saw the familiar tawny owl fly into the Great Hall during breakfast.  He leapt to his feet and stretched his arm out for the owl to land on.  Once the owl had perched on his arm, Tom removed the letter from her leg (which proved extremely difficult, as he was only using one hand).  Offering a bit of ham as thanks, Tom watched the owl fly towards the owlery before turning back to the letter.

After making sure that his peers were immersed in reading their own letters, or talking to one another, Tom opened his letter, and shielded it from view as he read it.

"Dear Tom,

I did, indeed, know your family.  However, there are certain memories I hold that should not be repeated in this letter, lest it get intercepted.  I understand you need answers, but I'm afraid I won't be able to give you any until we can speak in person.  You mentioned in your letter that you have lived in the Benevolent Heart Orphanage—I know the Benevolent Heart Orphanage; during the Christmas holidays, if you go to the orphanage, I will contact you.  There is no need for you to reply to this letter, as I will instigate our meeting.

Ethel Merriwyther"

Tom stared, dumbfounded, at the written words.  The reply he had been waiting so deeply to read turned out to be nearly useless.  But, then, what had he expected—to read a letter and suddenly have every one of his many questions answered?  Indeed, it was miraculous that she agreed to tell him anything—she has no real bond with Tom.  Nevertheless, he found himself slightly disappointed.  Not only would he have to wait more than a month, but he would also have to return to the prison of his childhood.  Ever since his head of house had informed the first years that they would have the opportunity to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays, Tom had been looking forward to spending the fortnight of freedom within the walls of the castle.

"It's a small price to pay, I suppose," Tom said aloud.

"What was that, Tom?" Letifer asked only half-heartedly as he read his copy of _The Daily Prophet_.

"Oh… nothing," he replied, noting that Letifer had yet to realize that Tom had received a letter.  "It's about time to get to Transfiguration, isn't it, Letifer?"

At once, Letifer tossed his newspaper aside, and began to scramble to finish his breakfast.  Tom rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, Letifer, we have to go," Tom insisted as he eyed the ever-emptying Great Hall.

Exasperatedly, he answered, "Fine, but if I waste away, it's your fault.  Let's go, Max."

Tom let out a sharp laugh, "_My_ fault?  I don't think I was the one reading during breakfast—er—reading a newspaper, that is," he added hastily as he remembered his letter.

"Well we could have been a little late," Letifer said sullenly.

"No we couldn't have—you _know_ Dumbledore doesn't exactly favor Slytherins."

"I know, I know.  But lunch looks seems so far away when I can't eat all of my breakfast."

Tom and Letifer remained silent until they rounded the corner of the corridor that lead to the Transfiguration classroom.

"What was so interesting that you couldn't stop reading anyway?" Tom finally asked.

Letifer's expression brightened considerably.  "You'll never _believe_ what was in the _Daily Prophet_.  Grindelwald's supporters 'Wreaked Havoc' on Muggles throughout Europe!  Yesterday, they captured dozens of Muggles and subjected them to all sorts of curses and hexes.  Of course, anyone they tell just thinks they're crazy," Letifer laughed heartily.

However, Tom's brow furrowed questioningly as he asked, "Who is Grindelwald?"

Letifer looked at him as though he were an extremely dull-witted child for a moment before answering.  Just as they took their seats near the back of the room, he answered, "Grindelwald is the most powerful wizard _alive_…"

However, he was unable to finish his explanation as Professor Dumbledore walked into the room looking immensely somber.  Tom knew something was gravely wrong when the usually strict professor chose not to reprimand a pair of tittering Slytherin girls.

"Class, the headmaster doesn't wish me to disclose this information, but I feel it is important for you all to know the dire circumstances we are facing.  Indeed, the _Daily Prophet_ has seen fit to tell all of the wizarding world…"

Tom chanced a glance at Letifer, who could be found smirking, quite visibly.  However, the rest of the class was rapt—hanging on the professor's every word.

"The Dark Wizard, Grindelwald, who has been steadily gaining power and support since his brief imprisonment in Azkaban more than a decade ago, has taken his first, massive, aggressive action against Muggles in Germany and her surrounding countries.  Dozens of Muggles were captured.  Though the British Ministry of Magic doesn't have any definite answers, it is believed that the Muggles were captured with the intention of being tortured.  As of today, more than thirty Muggles are unaccounted for, while many, many more are suffering from shock, and are in no fit state to tell Ministry workers what horrors they witnessed.  Also, the Memory Charms the Ministry workers tried to place on them out of pity didn't work, for a reason unknown to any of us."

Though most of the students in the room gasped in disbelief, many Slytherins had twisted smiles upon their faces, while all Ravenclaws had sorrowful looks of compassion upon their faces.

Students spent that day in a daze.  What little laughter could be heard was quickly stifled, and the hushed voices of the hundreds of students discussing the event in the Great Hall sounded like the buzzing of bees.

Tom was one of the few people in the school left, for the most part, unaffected by the alleged tragedy.  Somehow, he couldn't muster pity for the Muggles.  After all, it was because of Muggles that he had spent his entire childhood in an orphanage.  It was because of his _Muggle_ father that Tom's mother had died alone.  What did he owe to Muggles?

Rather than pity, Tom shared the feelings of many other Slytherins.  Tom was in awe that a single wizard could have organized such an effective action against Muggles.  True, he conceded, the deed couldn't have been done without the help and cooperation of others, but, nevertheless, it was an awesome feat.

After his weeks at Hogwarts, Tom was finally beginning to appreciate the disdain his fellow Slytherins reserved for Muggles.

*~*~*

Following Schmerznacht, as the incident became known, both students and faculty were noticeably subdued.  The Slytherins, on the other hand, had become positively boisterous.

For nearly a week after Schmerznacht the air in the Slytherin common room was electric with excitement. 

"My parents nearly sent me to Durmstrang—you know, the prestigious German school of Witchcraft and Wizardry," an elated fourth year named Genevieve Newton exclaimed.  "Mum wrote in her last letter that the headmaster of Durmstrang began a course on Dark Magic _on the order of Grindelwald_.  Can you believe it?  I could have been _learning _dark magic—none of this defense rubbish."

Genevieve's talk of Durmstrang launched the common room into a wistful discussion about the possibility of transferring to Durmstrang.

"_My_ father went to Durmstrang," Letifer spoke up proudly, looking out at the now-silent Slytherins.  "In fact, my whole family, before me, did.  My parents moved to London before I was born, though, and father and mother insisted I come here, even though I also got a letter of acceptance from Durmstrang.  Since I can remember, I've been positively _begging _them to move back to Germany, but father, for some reason, insisted that he work in the British Ministry of Magic."

Tom, knowing nothing of Durmstrang, refrained from participating in the conversation, instead choosing to absorb any information of the German school he could.

*~*~*

As was inevitable, the cool days of autumn quickly turned to the frosty days of winter.  Christmas drew nearer, and the students of Hogwarts began to talk excitedly about the upcoming holidays.  Tom felt torn.  On one hand, he would finally learn the truth about his family.  However, he would also have to return to the orphanage that had been holding him captive since his infancy.

Tom sat sitting in the Slytherin common room surrounded by a large group of his peers, amiably discussing their Christmas plans.

"What are your plans for Christmas, Tom?" Asked a petite-looking second year named Calista LaVie; who had been quite taken with Tom since his arrival at Hogwarts.

Tom flashed her a winning smile, which made Calista blush, before answering sarcastically, "I'm going _home_."

She gave him a questioning look, and opened her mouth to ask a second question, but was cut off by a tall, older girl Tom didn't know.

"Where do you live?" the tall girl asked.

Immediately, Tom's features darkened, and he bit his lip, as though debating whether he wanted to reveal such a thing about his past.  Eventually, his conscience won out, for he answered in a whisper, "An orphanage."

Several of the students who had been hanging on Tom's every word suddenly gaped at each other.

"Pardon?" The tall girl implored.

"The Benevolent Heart Orphanage," Tom answered louder, but with shame in his voice.

Tom had never felt the need to volunteer this information with many people (of course, both Letifer and Max knew).  The group of students surrounding him uncomfortably muttered their apologies.  _This is exactly why I don't tell people these things_, Tom thought, rolling his eyes.  He forced a gallant smile and said, "Don't worry—it's really not so bad…" and continued chatting, easily sidestepping any further questions of his past.

*~*~*

"Professor Bane?" Tom asked upon seeing the pallid teacher sitting in his office in the dungeons.

"Ah, my favorite student," Professor Bane replied silkily.  Professor Bane was the Potions master at Hogwarts, and was the current Slytherin head of house.  Students in houses other than Slytherin found Professor Bane to look sinister.  Indeed, his carefully slicked-back gray hair, precisely curled goatee, and attire of black robes did seem out of place when compared to the other professors, but Tom never found him to look remotely menacing.  Then, Tom had a way with teachers.  Despite the fact that Professor Bane tended to favor Slytherins, Tom was easily his favorite—winning Slytherin more house points than his fellow first years combined.

"Er—I am going back—er—home over the Christmas holidays…"

"Indeed?" Professor Bane said, looking at a piece of parchment.  "You told me early in October that you wanted to stay at Hogwarts."

"Yes, that's one reason I'm here.  As it turns out, I have to go home.  I'm not sure what day I will need to meet the Hogwarts Express to come back."

The corners of Professor Bane's mouth arched to form a thin-lipped smile as he answered; "The train will leave King's Cross Station at eleven in the morning on January the third."

"Thank you, Professor," Tom said, turning to leave.  However, he stopped short and turned to face the professor one last time, and asked hopefully,  "There isn't, by any chance, a train that comes back to Hogwarts before the third, is there?"

Professor Bane smiled sympathetically, "I'm afraid not, Tom."

Tom nodded as though accepting some unpleasant, irrevocable prognostication before turning to leave the dank dungeons.

*~*~*

It was with a heavy heart that Tom left the enormous castle behind as the scarlet train steadily gained speed.  Though he had been sharing a compartment with Letifer and Max, Tom had been allowed a certain amount of solitude.  Letifer had sensed Tom's sullen mood, and was quietly discussing Quidditch with Max.

After hours of lounging on the sleepy, gently swaying train, Tom felt the train begin to shudder as it slowed to a halt.  Once the train had stopped at platform 9 ¾, Tom gathered his small trunk of clothes and homework he had brought with him from Hogwarts and set out to find Gwendolyn.

She, however, found him first.

"Tom!" He heard, and couldn't help but smile.  "Oh, Tom, dear, I've missed you so much!" Gwendolyn said, sweeping Tom up in a tight hug.  Gwendolyn continued to chat happily as she led Tom through the swirling snow towards the London underground.

After their ten-minute ride on the subway, Gwendolyn finished her review of the past months at the orphanage, and asked, "So, Tom, how was Hogwarts?  Is it everything you wished it would be?"

Though he had been listening somewhat-absently to Gwendolyn's news, he at once collected his thoughts to tell her about Hogwarts.

"It's wonderful, Gwendolyn!  After studying and practicing all summer, I was the top of my class.  Most of the teachers adore me, and refer me to tutor less-prepared students… but, recently…" He drifted off.

"What is it?  What happened?" Gwendolyn implored anxiously.

Tom glanced about him, as though apprehensive he would be overheard.  "Things have just added up—little things I'm beginning to discover—and my grades have begun to slip…   I… I'm supposed to meet someone over the holidays to find out about my parents."  When he finished, Tom chanced an uneasy look at Gwendolyn, who had averted her eyes, and was looking towards the distance while biting her bottom lip.

Quickly, however, Gwendolyn seemed to sense that Tom was looking at her, and forced, unsuccessfully, a smile to her face.

"Yes, well, no one should be forced to go through his life without knowing about his family," she said cheerily, despite the pained look on her face.

The remainder of their walk to the orphanage passed in awkward silence.

*~*~*

"Happy Christmas, Tom!" Gwendolyn said, rousing Tom from his fitful slumber.

Tom blinked in return as he tried to adjust to the blinding light seeming to radiate from the snow-covered street below.  Then, regaining his bearings, he smiled genuinely at the woman smiling to him, and answered, "Happy Christmas!  Er—did I receive a letter or anything?"

Gwendolyn's gaze shifted uneasily, but she replied, "I'm afraid you didn't receive a letter, dear, but there is a large package for you beneath the Christmas tree in the dining room.  Why don't we go eat breakfast?"

Desperately, Tom wished to open his gift, but decided he shouldn't deny Gwendolyn's request, so he nodded, and walked side-by-side with Gwendolyn to the lengthy table heaped with delicious foods for the twenty orphans to eat.  Suddenly, Tom recalled the annual Christmas feast, and was pleased he had chosen to eat before opening his parcel.

Tom sat betwixt two redheaded orphans (siblings, he presumed) he didn't know, and waited as patiently as possible for the few late-risers to join their fellows for breakfast.  While they waited, the boy sitting on his right attempted to engage Tom in conversation.

"Are you new here?" He asked.

"No, I'm something of an old hand—been here since I was a baby," Tom answered.

"Oh.  My sister and I," he motioned to the girl on Tom's left, "Have been here for a couple of months now…" He stopped and sadly looked at his hands, but quickly continued, "By the way, I'm Roger O'Mearley, and that's Victoria."

Tom smiled kindly at the girl, who, upon closer inspection, was weeping silently.  Tom looked away guiltily, as though he had witnessed something he shouldn't have; he had always felt this way when he saw new orphans arrive at the orphanage.

"I'm Tom.  Tom Riddle."

"Nice to meet you," they exchanged.

Moments later, the remaining children trickled into the dining room, and they were allowed to eat the feast sitting before them.

"So, whe'e 'ave you 'een?" Roger asked around a mouthful of ham.

"Pardon?" Tom asked.

Roger swallowed before repeating himself, "Well, you said you've been here since you were a baby.  I've been here for two and half months, and I've never seen you… so where've you been all this time?"

Tom hesitated for the briefest of moments before answering, "At my school.  I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—"  He stopped abruptly when he saw the look of disgust on Roger's face.

Roger finally regained his composure after a few deep breaths, and asked, "Did you say what I thought you said?"

After concluding it would be futile to deny his explanation, he nodded his head.

Roger cast one last repugnant glance at Tom before engrossing himself in his food—ignoring Tom for the nearly forty minutes of Christmas breakfast.  Tom cursed himself and his loose tongue.  Never before had he disclosed such information of himself to a stranger.  He had once prevented a vase shattering as it fell from the mantle on the fireplace in the boys' bedroom (before he knew he was a wizard), but hadn't even told Gwendolyn.  Poking at the food on his plate, Tom asked himself why he had spoken so openly to Roger.  "Because I thought he might accept me," he muttered quietly.

Despite the fact that Tom was anxious to leave the company of his fellows, he was disgruntled to see that Roger quickly pulled his young sister aside, and began whispering in her ear, occasionally glancing at Tom.  However, Tom had already decided to forget the incident had ever happened, and was anxious to finally open his gift.  He walked assuredly to the twinkling Christmas tree, and searched through the few parcels for the one meant for him.  The tag read:  'To:  Tom Riddle   From:  E.W.'

" 'E.W.?'"  Tom whispered to himself.  "Who is that…" Comprehension suddenly dawned on him, and he began to eagerly rip the paper from the package.  What he saw nearly made him drop the box in surprise.  After being assured he wouldn't scream, he gently set the box on the hardwood floor, and tried not to disturb the creature that lay coiled in the small cardboard box.

"A _snake_?  Why would anyone—she—give me a snake?" He exclaimed.  He then grasped a small piece of folded parchment he saw in the corner of the box.  Because it happened to be in a corner opposite the inert snake, Tom was able to grab it without fainting.  In elegant script, he read the note.

"Dear Tom,

I'm most upset that we haven't been able to meet yet, but I felt this would be the best way to establish contact.  Meet me on the street corner north of the orphanage after dinner tonight.  I will be dressed in an emerald cloak.  Bring your gift.

Sincerely,

Ethel Merriwyther"

Tom glanced uncertainly at the snake lying twisted in the box before noticing the 'P.S,' which, as if the Ethel Merriwyther knew what Tom would be thinking, read:

"P.S.  You needn't worry about the snake—it is in a bewitched sleep, and will remain in such a state until you bring her to me."

The remainder of the day passed, in Tom's opinion, sluggishly, as it always does when one is anxiously awaiting something of great importance.  However (after what seemed to be three weeks), Tom found himself finishing his dinner, and bundling up to counter the frigid December air.  The next moment, he was rounding the corner of the orphanage; scanning the crowd for a woman wearing and emerald cloak.  Within seconds of his arrival, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder, and heard a familiar voice whisper kindly, "Hello, Tom."

Tom whirled around to gaze into the face of the woman he had known so long, and exclaimed, "Gwendolyn!"

_To be continued…_

**Second A/N**:  For future reference, I'm making the Dark wizard, Grindelwald, something like the wizarding counterpart of Adolf Hitler; think oppression, a cause of extreme fear/distrust, and the prompting for many wizards of different beliefs to bond together.  The time frame seemed to coincide with the years of Hitler's tyranny (using the information from Albus Dumbledore's wizard card—which says Dumbledore defeated the wizard in 1945).  My history teacher last year made the subject absolutely fascinating—I found learning about the subject (particularly the complexities of World War II) enthralling.  This is the main reason I am making Grindelwald an issue at all.  The instance in this chapter is, in fact, loosely based on _Kristallnacht_—the night of broken glass.

**Third A/N**:  (This is the last one, I promise!)  I am extremely sorry for the cliffhanger, but due to circumstances (I was supporting a local band at a battle of the bands, and am now tired L), I couldn't complete the meeting with Ethel Merriwyther, as I had planned.  But, after such a long chapter, surely you are all tired of reading, right?  Oh say 'yes' so I don't go on some horrible guilt trip!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:**        The characters and idea of this fan fiction come from the mind of J.K. Rowling

**Summary:**         This is my version of Tom Riddle's life, and his journey to evil.

**A/N:**                  In case you've forgotten what happened in the last chapter(s), Tom is an orphan who is currently seeking to learn more about his parents, and past in general.  He was going to meet with Ethel Merriwyther, but was found by Gwendolyn on the street corner.  

The Tale of Tom Riddle

Chapter Three

Christmas-Summer, 1938-1939

"Gwendolyn!" Tom exclaimed.  "I—I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going… but I just had to come out here to talk to someone," he stuttered lamely.

Much to Tom's surprise, Gwendolyn merely smiled.  "Let me guess, were you to meet a certain Ethel Merriwyther?"

Stupefied, Tom merely nodded his head.

"Tom, dear, there's something I've never told you; my _full_ name is Ethel Gwendolyn Merriwyther, I'm a twelfth-generation witch, and I adored your mother.  Since I've been working at the orphanage, I've been using the name Gwendolyn.  I have my reasons to not want to be known," she looked away somewhat guiltily.

Tom finally began to absorb the information, and he asked softly, "So you sent me the Christmas present…"

"Yes.  I felt it would be a good way to discover if you…  Well, I thought it would be a good present.  Did you bring her with you—?  Ah, good.  Before I go into great detail about your family, let me describe this ancient gift I have bestowed upon you.  The ancient Amaranthine Serpent has powers far greater than an ordinary snake, and powers only surpassed by the fearsome Basilisk.  Amaranthine Serpents are extremely intelligent, and have a venom that can cause instantaneous death, or revitalize a nearly-lifeless person—depending on whether the person knows how to correctly harvest it."

Tom felt a fierce sense of pride as he looked thoughtfully upon such a powerful creature.

"This particular Serpent," Gwendolyn continued, "Is particularly powerful.  You may not yet know this, but your mother's family has produced witches and wizards of extraordinary power, and these Amaranthine Serpents are no different.  Your mother owned her own Amaranthine Serpent, and the Serpent you hold in your hands happens to have been borne of your mother's own Serpent."

"How is that possible?" Tom inquired.  "How is it possible that such a tiny snake be the offspring of my mother's?  Do you have hers?  Is it still alive?"

Gwendolyn smiled, though her eyes were filled with sorrow.  "I'm afraid not, Tom.  Despite the fact that the life spans of Amaranthine Serpents can surpass that of a wizard, they are extremely faithful.  Just as humans do, the Serpents grieve the death of their caregivers; sometimes to the point of forfeiting their life to the anguish they feel.  Your mother's snake, Gentle Maiden, was no different.  As it happened, Gentle Maiden laid the egg of your Serpent the day before she finally wasted away.  Perhaps she knew that had to hold on a bit longer…" she trailed off.  Cheeks glistening with tears as she remembered the events of that fateful year, she continued, "After three years encompassed in the turquoise shell, your snake finally burst through, and, for the past seven years, the Serpent has been growing until I felt I could trust you with her safekeeping."

As he gazed at the glittering hide of the snake before him, Tom suddenly said, "Nagini."

"What's that, dear?"

"I'm going to call her Nagini," he said, raising his eyes to meet Gwendolyn's.

Raising a brow, Gwendolyn observed, "That's an interesting choice of a name.  Where did you hear it?"

Brow furrowed, Tom looked intently at the snake.  He paused, and lifted his eyes, with some difficulty, to once again meet Gwendolyn's piercing eyes, "I don't know," he whispered.  "It was almost as though… never mind.  That's ridiculous."

"What is it, Tom?" The woman pressed.

"I thought she _spoke_ to me!"

Triumph gleamed in Gwendolyn's eyes.

"But I _can't_ speak Parseltongue!" Tom exclaimed, seeming to plead Gwendolyn to affirm his statement.

"My dear, there's no other explanation.  Perhaps no one has told you but you are directly descended from – "

Tom cut her off.  His voice barely audible, Tom whispered, "Salazar Slytherin."

" – Who was most noted as being possessing the ability to speak Parseltongue," Gwendolyn said, giving Tom her familiar, fond look.  "Tom, everyone witch and wizard on your mother's side has had this ability.  You don't know what a blessing it is!  However, your connection with Nagini, here, goes much deeper than merely your understanding of her language.  She is in a bewitched sleep.  You connected telepathically.  I had feared you may not have the ability because of your father."

Tom snorted disdainfully.  "Of course, it would make sense that _he'd_ ruin it for me…"

Worry now creased Gwendolyn's face, as she cocked her head to examine Tom further.  "But he _didn't_, Tom."  Upon realizing her fears, she uttered, "You've changed…  All these years, I knew it would happen, but I willed myself not to believe it could… but you've inherited the vengeful spirit common among your ancestors."  To Tom's bewilderment, she began to weep, her sobs causing her frame to quake.  "No matter how I tried to change it!" she began to mutter incoherently as the sob took control of her voice.

His anger subsiding, Tom immediately moved closer to Gwendolyn to offer comfort.

"I haven't changed, Gwendolyn!  Honest – I just notice not… not having a family closer to Christmas…" he lied.

Despite the fact that his words seemed to offer little consolation, Gwendolyn seemed to have recovered slightly from her abrupt change in emotions.  Giving Tom a wary smile, she said, "I do hope you're right… but I have my reasons to doubt the future."

Suddenly, and unjustly, Tom became impatient and irritated with the woman he was cradling in his arms.  He quickly backed away in horror as he realized what he was feeling.

Pretending not to notice the look of dismay on Tom's face, Gwendolyn motioned toward the orphanage.  "We should be getting back, I suppose.  Oh, I forgot to awaken Nagini," she said listlessly.  After uttering a few words Tom didn't understand, the snake suddenly sprang to life.  "Goodnight, Tom," she bid him adieu as she left Tom staring incredulously into the box containing the sparkling serpent, Nagini on the darkened street corner in the swirling snow.

*~*~*

Tom lay drenched in sweat.  Desperately he tried to decipher the markings on the walls.  They could be his only clue as to how to get out of this maze.  Suddenly, he found he couldn't breathe.  He felt as though the walls were encompassing him from six sides, gradually causing his air supply to deplete.  Clenching his eyes shut in the face of death, Tom gripped the clammy stonewalls, and slid roughly to the floor.

Barely audible, there came the voice of a woman.  Tom was unable to discern her words, but the mere sound of her voice was comforting.  Warily, he opened his eyes to see an un-obstructed passageway before him yet again.  Her lilting voice sifted through the dank air, encouraging Tom to come closer.  The air became fresher.  Her voice became clearer.  Most dismayingly, the woman's voice became increasingly pained as Tom drew nearer.  He listened to her groan in agony.  Desperately, Tom began to search for the woman who was obviously injured.

Surprisingly, just as Tom approached the pulsing light at the end of the tunnel, he heard the voice of a second woman.  Between her sobs, Tom could just make out her quiet prayers:

"_Please_!  You're going to make it!" she whispered frantically.

Tom peered through an archway, and caught a glimpse of two women, however, one woman – who was lying down, and sounded like she had been hurt somehow – was partially obscured by a woman kneeling protectively over the first woman.

Opening his mouth to speak, Tom found he was mute.  Not a single word came out of his mouth, so he crossed the threshold of the brightly lit, oval-shaped room.   The moment he stepped beneath the archway, however, the woman emitted a misery-filled moan that resonated off the walls.  Within a split second, however, the groan was replaced by an exhausted, if not relived, sigh.  Next, the sound of a baby's wail surrounded Tom.  The room began to spin, and the figures Tom had been watching silently began to waver.   As the scene before him unraveled, he heard a pained whisper, "I will call him Tom.  Tom Marvolo… Riddle…"  The last word was said with such joy, but with the effort of one who knows one's worldly time is nearly at an end, that Tom felt warm tears running down his face.  He began falling.  Falling into an oblivion, hearing only the voice of his dying mother…

Tom awoke with a start.  He sat up, and gave his room a frightened look.  Upon realizing he was safely nestled in his bed at the Benevolent Heart Orphanage, the tension in Tom's body lessened slightly.

"It was only a dream," he consoled himself as he threw his legs over the edge of his bed to walk shakily to the kitchen for a glass of water.  Throughout his trip to the kitchen, a thought plagued Tom; had he actually seen his mother's horrific death?

The rustle of feet on hardwood floors brought Tom's attention abruptly back to the kitchen and the orphanage.

"Hello, Gwendolyn," Tom said gruffly.

With extreme kindness, she returned, "Troubled dreams?"

Astonished, and bewildered, Tom furrowed his brow in thought, "Yes – how did you know?"

She smiled serenely and countered Tom's question with, "What happened?"

Tom wrapped up the series of questions when he bluntly asked, "How did my mother die?"

Gwendolyn squeezed her eyes shut, and murmured poignantly, "Eloise…" Tom could see that she was being tormented by memories Tom felt he understood.  After a moment, Gwendolyn regained her composure.  "She – she died just after giving birth to you… she had terrible complications.  And no one would help her," she finished miserably.

"What do you mean, 'no one would help her?'"

"Your… father," she spat, trying, unsuccessfully to strangle the anger from her voice, "Spread the word that your mother was a witch.  When she went into labor, no hospital would accept her.  You have to understand – we had _no money_.  We pleaded with the staff of every hospital for miles to help her, but they either knew about her heritage, or could tell we had no money."

A stunned silence enveloped the duo before Tom spoke timidly, "Where was I born?"

Gwendolyn shifted guiltily as she answered, "A sanctuary for our kind… below the streets of London…"

The pieces of the puzzle had finally fallen into place.  Tom had witnessed his birth and his mother's death at the same moment.

"Her last words," Gwendolyn continued, but was cut off by Tom.

"Were my names?"

Shaking her head, Gwendolyn answered the question negatively.  "No.  She said, 'the emblem emblazons the entry.'  For years I've tried to understand the statement.  In my dreams I see the look of intensity on her face but," her eyes welled with tears, and she completely broke down; "I don't even know what my best friend's last words _mean_!"

*~*~*

Tom left the orphanage feeling considerably less fulfilled than he had hoped his meeting with Gwendolyn would make him feel.  For Tom, the train-ride to Hogwarts passed in a blur of fantastic scenery, and the faraway banter of his fellows.

The moment Tom's feet graced the earth again; he sprinted to the Slytherin dungeons to his bed.  From beneath the mattress, he extracted a green, leather-bound volume, and began to flip madly through the familiar pages before coming to a halt on a page theorizing the location of the Chamber of Secrets.  Staring him in the face was a small picture he had neglected previously – dismissing it merely as a symbol of his house, and the founder's legacy.  A minute snake lay twisted around gothic symbols meaningless to Tom.  He read the passage:

'It has been theorized that the Chamber lies beneath the school, however, the exact entry is unknown.  Once, the obvious thought had been thought that the entry could be found beneath the Slytherin common room—'

Tom looked hopefully towards the heavy door that stood between him and his destiny, then turned back to the yellowed pages of his book.

'—However, extensive searches have found this idea to be false.'

In rage, Tom threw the book across the room, where it knocked over a box containing Letifer's quills and rolls of parchment.  Uttering an expletive, Tom strode to the mess he had created.  After carefully rolling Letifer's assignments back up, and placing them alongside his quills, Tom wedged his green book beneath his arm, and walked back over to his bed.  Sighing, Tom sat roughly on his bed, and once again opened his book.  This time, however, he was surprised to see a large piece of parchment flutter to the floor.  Curiosity got the better of him, and Tom bent to pick the piece of parchment off the ground, expecting to see a flamboyant love letter.  However, he stared bemusedly at the neat script, and realized, at once that he was not looking upon a letter.  In the upper right-hand corner, a simple phrase was printed clearly:

Eloise Evanly

_To be continued…_

**Second A/N**:  I'm very sorry that this was such a short chapter, but I really had no time to write this week (in fact, part of this chapter were usually written late at night…).  I hope you chose to take pity on me, and will excuse my embarrassingly short chapter…  Oh, and I don't think there's really anything I need to explain here (unless – everyone understood that Gwendolyn was Ethel Merriwyther, right?  Yes, that's what I thought.  By the way, was there anyone who felt I should have drawn that meeting out a little further?  That was one dilemma with which I was faced throughout the writing of this chapter).  Until next time!

**'Thank You' To**:

**WhetherRose**:  I want to thank you again (and I'm so happy you're back to reviewing!  I really have felt such compassion for you – feeling overwhelmed is not fun at ALL!).  I absolutely love your reviews – you never fail to bring a smile to my face (even if you are feeling lousy).  Really, as, I've said time, and time before, you're reviews are some of the most insightful I've read, and I adore you for it!  Oh, and don't worry about leaving long reviews – I'm sure you'll agree with me when I say those are the most fun to read.  They're much better than, say, 'Wow.  Keep writing.'  Of course, the downside is that they *do* detain me from writing (just kidding – I always, always enjoy reading long reviews ;) )

**Serina**:  I wanted to thank you, not only for the reviews, but for introducing me to your story.  As I've said before, I love Tom Riddle fics, and I love yours (even though I haven't had a chance to finish it *blushes*).  Also, thanks for pointing out that Saruman doesn't appear in the Hobbit.  I had really wished he would.  How distressing.  Oh well, because I am too lazy to think of another clever allusion, I'm going to pretend he _does_ appear in it, just so it will suit my needs!

**T.H**:  Ah!  You finally found out why in the world Gwendolyn appeared on the street corner!  I do hope you don't hate me for not being able to read anymore chapters (honestly, I _love_ the story, but my life the past couple of weeks has been frustratingly hectic!).  I solemnly swear to read it as soon as possible :)

**Babyphatcat13 and Mard**:  I'm so glad you two like this story (and not just Harry's Revenge :) ).  *Sighs contentedly*  Ah, my loyal supporters.  Where would I be without you?

**Also, Thanks to**:  My sister (Bonita Knows All/Bob the Builder), harrypottermagic32, S. Nicolai, My dad, Melissa, Sara Minks, and Azalais Malfoy for leaving kind reviews!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:**        The characters and idea of this fan fiction come from the mind of J.K. Rowling

**Summary:**         This is my version of Tom Riddle's life, and his journey to evil.

The Tale of Tom Riddle

Chapter 4

Late winter, 1938

Tom stared, in shock, at the name of his mother written on the crumbling piece of paper.  After shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, Tom continued to read the words printed neatly on the parchment, which formed the following riddle:

Beneath the floor the secrets are kept

Quietly curled the creature lies

'Till the moment it need arise

Far below the world, your destiny waits

As you are the chosen

Renounce the good

Embrace the diablerie

Within yourself you must find a will to live

To succeed you need only remember these hints thrice

You know your prowess; kindle it wisely

An unlikely friendship will prove vital

Finally, to accomplish your goal,

Make note of the failures of your common man

But be ever watchful of the symbol of evil.

Perplexed, Tom refolded the parchment he had found, and placed it beneath his mattress, taking care to leave his worries and assumptions with the small square neatly folded parchment.  Upon realizing the lateness of the hour, Tom rushed out of the emerald-decked room with a swish of a robe to join his classmates for dinner.

"What happened to you, Tom?" Letifer asked, looking intently at Tom.  "You look as though you've seen a ghost…" Letifer squinted his eyes at Tom skeptically.

Tom sat awkwardly on the wooden bench next to his friend.  "You have no idea, Letifer," Tom answered; a note of finality in his voice prevented either Letifer or Max questioning his claim further.

*~*~*

With a small 'poof,' Tom was nonchalantly changing his beetle into a petunia and back again.

"Now, class, it is imperative for you to pronounce the spell correctly," Professor Dumbledore began, clearly referring to a Hufflepuff named Scott Dricken.  "You must also concentrate on the shape of your arc when wave your wand.  Now, try it again, Scott," the professor said kindly to the blundering boy.

Scott then began to mutter the incantation, and wove his wand sporadically through the air.  When he reached the last syllable of the spell, a brilliantly purple light shot from the tip of his wand and across the room.  Students fell to the floor in whimpers of fear as the wild spell reverberated off the walls.  As he fumbled to reach the relative safety offered by the stone floor, however, Tom felt the shock of something crush his abdomen.  Before he could even glimpse his stomach (which felt as though it were caving in on itself), Tom was propelled across the room, and landed with dull thud just shy of the jaggedly hewn walls.

It was a moment before anyone noticed the spell had finally stopped its tour of the classroom.  The first voice heard above the babble of the students was that of Albus Dumbledore.  Urgently, he demanded, "Everyone stay calm.  Is anyone hurt?"  His face fell as he caught sight of Tom, who lay in an unconscious heap on the floor.  In a swift movement, he had reached the ashen-faced Tom.  Soon, the class had gathered in a silent ring around their fallen companion.  With a snap, Professor Dumbledore uttered a spell that caused Tom to levitate a few feet from the floor.

"It is imperative that I get Tom to the hospital wing immediately.  Class, you are dismissed for the day," Professor Dumbledore said absently as he looked meaningfully at Tom, whose unconscious body looked out of place as it floated at varying heights.  The professor strode determinedly through the corridors, his face set as he held his wand at arms length as he carefully guided Tom through the musty passageways.

"Poppy," Professor Dumbledore said warily as he peeked through the door that opened into the spotless hospital wing.

"Yes, Albus?" A pretty young witch said as she walked coyly between the bed-lined walls, batting her eyelashes.  Her flirtatious manner was dropped instantly, however, upon seeing the boy Dumbledore steered into the room.  At once, she dutifully took control of her patient, and used her own wand to gently lay Tom on a bed.  Tom's hair contrasted sharply with the starkness of the bedcovers, but his skin seemed to fuse with the whiteness, and he seemed to almost fade away.

Frightened, the nurse asked, "What hit him, Albus?  What spell did this?"

Gravely, Albus Dumbledore gazed into Poppy Pomfrey's upturned face, and answered, "I don't know – I've never seen the likes of it before.  Young Scott Dricken was trying to transfigure a beetle, and something went horribly, horribly wrong."

Poppy swallowed hard.  Never in her career at Hogwarts – which wasn't yet exceptionally long – had she known this professor to doubt himself.  During a crisis, it was the auburn-haired teacher who had the answers.  It was Dumbledore who was able to keep a level head.  Seeing him at such a loss frightened her.

Dumbledore stood quickly.  "Tom's ribs have been crushed.  Do what you can, Poppy – I'll be back soon."

"But where are you going?" she asked.  Her words, however, were wasted.  All that remained of Albus' presence was the quickly fading sound of shoes on stone as he strode purposefully away.

*~*~*

Hours passed, and Tom was showing no signs of recovering.  In fact, if anything, his ailments were becoming progressively worse.  After she had mended his bones, Madam Pomfrey sat watching in horror as the young man lying helpless on the bed tossed uneasily.  With his every movement, the pigments in Tom's skin dulled, until he was but a shadow, or the shell of a human, whose head was wreathed in raven hair.

Suddenly, Tom's movements ceased.  Frantically, Poppy once more searched through drawers and boxes.  She looked through cabinets and bags.  Not knowing precisely what she was so desperately seeking, Poppy fretted as she examined every elixir and powder.  Near hysterics, she tried to gather her thoughts.  Hogwarts had enlisted Poppy as the school nurse but three years prior to this incident.  With dismay, she realized that this would be, possibly, her first patient to die.  Instantly, her knees weakened, and she nearly collapsed into a heap.  Indeed, she would lie crumpled on the floor had Albus Dumbledore not entered the hospital wing at exactly that moment.  He grasped her firmly around the waist, and helped carry her to a bed.  After wringing a water-soaked rag, Albus carefully applied it to the woman's forehead.  Weakly, but gratefully, Poppy smiled at her savior.

"Thank you, Albus.  I was just thinking about…" she began.

"Shh," Professor Dumbledore cut in, his curt words contradicting his caring demeanor.  "I must save Tom," he said with conviction.

He pulled from his pocket an assortment of plants a varying shades of purple (ranging from the palest lavender, to the same violet color of the light that emitted from Scott's wand, and overtook Dumbledore's Transfiguration class).

Cursing what she mistook to be her weakness, Poppy Pomfrey arose from the bed on which she had been recovering.  "Let me help you, Professor," she said with such irrevocability that Dumbledore could not refuse her.

"Hold these, m' dear," he said respectfully handing the plants to Poppy.

Dumbledore took from his pocked a paper that had been folded four times.  He nodded resolutely as he read the paper, and handed it to the woman waiting anxiously by his side.

Without thinking, Poppy exclaimed, "Professor!  This is taken from a book in the Restricted Section in the library!"  Her finger prodded the stamp dignifying this book from a regular library book.  

Smiling weakly, Dumbledore answered, "Poppy, I'd have to say a young man's life is more important than a book from the Restricted Section."

"Yes, of course, Professor," Poppy answered as she blushed furiously.  "Shall I read the instructions to you?"

Dumbledore nodded silently as he carefully separated the different violet plants.

"First, take púrpura and add it to a mixture of aconite and wolfsbane – " she paused immediately.  "Professor, it says _wolfsbane_!  You can't give that to a student!"

His eyes slid closed, and Poppy noticed that Albus was visibly trying to control his impatience, however, when he spoke, he was completely calm.  "Poppy, you _must_ give me the instructions or leave me in peace to do so on my own – this is the _only_ hope we have to save Mister Riddle."

She bit her lip, and then watched as the professor added the most vividly violet plant to a small cauldron he had conjured when Poppy was reading.  Next, he added what was obviously wolfsbane, and the concoction began to hiss and bubble violently.  Mystified, Poppy watched Dumbledore expertly add various ingredients to the cauldron, and nearly missed her cue to read the next step.

"Oh!  Finally, add a bezor, and let the potion stew for three-quarters of an hour," she read aloud.

"Well, that's all we can do for now," Dumbledore said as he looked sadly at Tom, whose near-lifeless body caused him to sigh.  He sat heavily next to Poppy, who was perched tentatively on the edge of a hospital bed.

After observing a moment of silence, the nurse asked, "Now that we've bit of time to wait for the potion, could you tell me what happened to Tom?"

"He was hit with a spell – young Scott Dricken's spell to transfigure a beetle to a petunia somehow went awry.  Instead of the creation of a weak spell, Scott somehow generated one of the most powerful spells I've seen.  From a first year!  And Scott, at that - he's not the most skilled with a wand.  Except in Defense Against the Dark Arts," the professor allowed.

Poppy concurred with a nod.  "I've treated poor Scott more times…"

"Scott somehow managed to perform, _Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose._  It is a spell so complex I am among the few who know the whole of it."

"What is _Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose_?"  Poppy asked innocently.

"I dare not speak of it.  It's nothing the boy could have learned from regular class – I know this is not the sort of thing being taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts…" he trailed off.

"Pardon, did you say Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly, "Yes.  Tom seems to have intercepted one of the most useful spells in the Defense Against the Dark Arts.  _Dio Vesper_, as you have seen, can have disastrous results if it is used correctly.  And Scott most assuredly used it correctly," Dumbledore marveled.

"Correctly?  Surely you can't mean Tom was supposed – "

"Speak no more of it, Poppy," Albus interjected.  "That spell was meant to hit Tom – even if Scott didn't mean to use it.  Whether it was borne of Scott's wand, or the wand of another, that spell was meant for Tom.  However, perhaps there is still time to alter the future," he finished so softly Poppy felt herself straining to catch the final phrase.

The duo sat in uncomfortable silence for the remaining time; Poppy spent the half-hour staring uneasily at Tom, and Dumbledore sat, apparently, contemplating a matter weighing heavily on his mind.

At long last, the potion changed from a vibrant purple hue to a murky yellow.  Poppy wrinkled her nose in disgust when she caught a whiff of the brew.  Without needing to be told, she cradled Tom's head in her arms in preparation of coaxing him to down the solution.  Dumbledore held the ladle filled with the potion, and raised it to Tom's lips.  As if by instinct, Tom opened his mouth, and drank the liquid.  When he had drunk the spoonful, Poppy gently lowered him to lie flat once again.  Almost immediately, Tom began to lose the transparency he'd been plagued with, and stirred restlessly.

Dumbledore smiled.  "Good.  It's working.  He's in your care now, Poppy."

"Yes, Albus," she answered in a state of shock – never in her wildest dreams had she expected to see such quick results.

After a few hours, Tom was coherent enough to ask a simple question:  "What happened?"

His sudden question caught Madam Pomfrey off-guard, and she started.  "Erm…  You were hit with _Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose_."  However, beyond that, Madam Pomfrey refused to disclose any information.  Tom, still exhausted from his brush with death, fell into a dreamless sleep induced by a powder Madam Pomfrey forced upon Tom.  "Take this, Tom.  You mustn't dream – not yet.  This will help you slumber peacefully."

Despite the fact that his recovery began soon after receiving his antidote, Tom didn't return to the hustle and bustle of the school for several weeks, and rumors fabricating his horrific death began to circulate throughout the school.

"_I_ heard that Scott hit Tom with an _Unforgivable_ curse, and he just died – right there!"

"No way.  That curse was _nothing_.  Dumbledore just took him to the nurse as a precaution.  He really got eaten by a dragon."

"That's ridiculous," came the voice of reason from Letifer.  "How did he meet a dragon, pray tell?"

A skeletal shadow suddenly appeared on the floor of the Slytherin common room, and the occupants of the room turned to see Tom leaning, bemused, against the wall of the secret passage that led to the Slytherins' dungeon.  "So, I died, did I?"  He asked as he sauntered into the room.

Immediately, havoc ensued.  In an uproar, questions resounded throughout the circular room.  Tom, however, was selective in answering.  The only question he dignified with an answer was the very same that he had asked Madam Pomfrey.

"Evidently, I caught a bit of Scott Dricken's _Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose_ spell."

"_Scott_ did this to you?"  Letifer asked, agog.

"I guess so…  It must've been the spell that was going crazy in Transfiguration."

"That _filthy_ Mudblood!"  A Slytherin whom Tom didn't know exclaimed.

Tom, who had actually been thinking something along the same lines as the other Slytherin, remained silent.  Already, he had resolved to go to the library as soon as possible to research the spell with which Scott had hit him.  Inwardly, Tom laughed.  Had Madam Pomfrey meant to keep anything from him, she'd made a severe mistake in daring to tell him the reason for his hospitalization.

*~*~*

Having awoken with a start, Tom rubbed his heavily ringed eyes and took in his surroundings.

"Of course," he said quietly to himself.  "Where else would I be but the library?"  Towers of books perched treacherously on the wooden table at which Tom was currently slumped over.  He then turned his attention to what had caused a disruption in his slumber.

"Letifer!  What are you doing here?"

Letifer, whom Tom had always known to be among the most confident of people he knew, was now shifting uneasily from foot to foot.  Tom leapt to his feet, fearing the worst.

"Headmaster Dippet wants a word with you, Tom," Letifer said, unable to meet Tom's unwavering gaze.  Visibly, Tom relaxed.

"Oh, that's all?" He said jauntily.  "I've got Dippet wrapped around my finger."  With that, Tom began to gather books to take to the dungeons.

"Erm, Tom?  He said it was urgent."

For the slightest moment, Tom's face blanched.  Quickly, however, he regained his composure.  "Alright.  Will you wait for me in the Great Hall to eat lunch?"

"Sure," Letifer answered.  "Then we can head to the Quidditch pitch for the match – Slytherin versus Gryffindor!"  He called jovially as their distance between one another increased.

Tom trod the familiar passages but anxiety wrung and knotted his stomach, as the paintings whose cheery scenes typically lined the roughly hewn walls grew increasingly dreary and dark.  One witch even had the audacity to point to Tom and whisper behind her hand to a woman in her company.  After much ado, he reached the goblin statue he knew concealed the entrance to the headmaster's office, and waited rather impatiently for the headmaster Dippet to greet him.

"Ah, Mister Riddle," came the voice of the wizened wizard as the goblin leapt from Tom's path.  "Please step inside."

Tom stepped onto the moving staircase and allowed him to be carried to the headmaster's office.  Slowly, Tom began to catch glimpses of the office – portraits of sleeping witches and wizards came into view.

Still carrying his books, Tom approached Armando Dippet who sat dejectedly at his desk.  "You may want to sit down, Tom."

He swallowed hard, but Tom declined the offer with a shake of his head.

Headmaster Dippet sighed, and his shoulders slumped slightly before he continued, "Very well.  I've received a bit of bad news from the Muggle world…  A woman with whom you're acquainted with has fallen gravely ill.  She wishes to see you – "

"One last time," Tom finished as his books tumbled from his hands to scatter across the floor.  Forcing his knees to buckle, Tom asked, "Is Gwendolyn ill?"

"I'm afraid so, Tom.  Your head of house, Professor Bane, and I conferred and decided it was for the best that you visit her.  You're to be excused from classes for one week.  The Hogwarts Express will leave Hogsmeade at precisely 11:30 tomorrow morning and, if you wish, you may take the opportunity to go to London."  The headmaster paused thoughtfully before continuing, "Will you be all right, Tom?"

Having suppressed a laugh, Tom marveled at Dippet's naivety.  Nevertheless, Tom feigned the sanity he knew the headmaster expected of him, "Sure… sure, I'll be fine."

In a shocked daze, Tom gathered his books and trudged toward the Great Hall, trying to assure himself that he was dreaming.  He tried to convince his mind that when he awoke, he'd be in the library surrounded by his research.

"Ouch!" Tom roared upon having his toes nearly crushed by a burly fourth year that had crossed Tom's path.

"You prat!" The boy exclaimed as he stumbled to keep his balance.  "Watch where you're going!"

A sensation of lightheadedness overwhelmed Tom, and he scurried to the Great Hall where Letifer was waiting for him.  Upon reaching the Slytherin table, Tom collapsed onto the hard wooden bench, and allowed his books to fall heavily beside him.

Letifer, not cognizing Tom's state of languish, asked, "Ready to go to the Quidditch match?"

Incredulously, Tom stared, unblinking, with raised eyebrows at Letifer.  "No.  I think I'm going to sit this one out."

Shrugging, Letifer said, "Suit yourself," and joined Max to walk through the ornate doors leading to the vast lawn stretching before the castle.

After sitting, broken, in the rapidly emptying Great Hall for ten minutes, Tom finally heaved himself from where he sat and began the walk to the Slytherin dungeons so he could pack for his journey to visit the woman around whom his very life revolved.  Gwendolyn was the pillar around which Tom built his life.  Tom was nobody – an orphan with not a penny to his name – yet she cared for him.  Gwendolyn was the only person who remained constant and steadfast in his life; she was the only person who felt compassion for and bestowed love on Tom.  And now she, too, would be snatched from his life.  The delicate bond encompassing Tom's heart was quickly cracking and dissipating, and Tom feared he would be left with naught by an empty hole where his heart should be.

Having been nearly moved to tears of self-pity, Tom suddenly realized he was standing in his common room, despite the fact he had no recollection of uttering the password or descending the narrow staircase that led to the dungeons.

Finally beginning to recover from his shock, Tom started packing for his journey to London.  After an hour, he believed himself to be finished, and was beginning to slip into a reverie, when he remembered his mother's riddle.  Tom contemplated the paper's worth for a long while before he pocketed it, and resolved to ask Gwendolyn about it.

Suddenly, Tom felt himself succumb to exhaustion, and fell, listlessly, onto his bed, where he slept until ten o'clock the next morning.

"Wake up, there, Tom!" Came Letifer's drawling voice.  "Dippet says you're leaving in an hour and a half."

"An hour and a half?" Tom called groggily.  _Did I really sleep that long?_  He asked himself.  Comprehension suddenly dawned on him, and Tom began scrambling about as he prepared for his voyage.

With only moments to spare before its departure, Tom sat inside a compartment on the scarlet Hogwarts Express.

The angry clouds swirling in the sky hinted at the potential for a sudden thunderstorm, and wisps of fog clung to small valleys in the ground.  Not a glimmer of the sky could be seen through the dense clouds, and, consequently, the world was engulfed in a dreary gray color.

Tom tried to concentrate on the library book he had been allowed to take with him to London, but to no avail.  Absently, he traced the picture of a serpent on the reddened cover.  Shamefully, Tom remembered that, over the course of the past few weeks, he had severely neglected Nagini.  Nagini had had free reign over the school during Tom's absence, but, when he returned to the tumultuousness of the school, Tom had kept Nagini under close surveillance, and the snake had refused to acknowledge his existence by ignoring him and sneaking away from his dormitory whenever she saw the chance.

Sadly, Tom remembered the day Gwendolyn had given him Nagini.  Having decided that he would, somehow, apologize to Nagini, Tom walked out of his compartment and sought to find the witch who usually brought a trolley of foodstuffs through the train.  He returned a few minutes later thoughtfully devouring a Pumpkin Pasty.

In an explosion of orange flakes, the Pumpkin Pasty splintered across the floor.

"_Nagini_!" Tom heard himself hiss.  "What are you doing here?"

Nagini's small face twisted as she smiled.  "Just wanted to ssee where my favorite human wass going without me," she spat sarcastically.

Tom's shoulders slumped.  "Nagini, you know I didn't mean to ignore you so – a lot has been happening in my life."  Even as he uttered the apology, Tom sensed the ineffectuality of his words.

"That'ss no excusse."

"Gwendolyn's _dying_," Tom offered as his excuse.

Nagini paused.  "She'ss dying?"

Unable to control it, Tom's eyes welled with tears, and he nodded.

"But… but what happened?"

Tom shrugged, and placed his head in his hands.  For the first time since hearing the news, Tom felt the magnitude of the situation.

At this moment, Tom and Nagini became united through their sorrow.  Through a silent agreement, they decided that no further apologies were needed.

After a few moments of wallowing in their sorrows, it was Nagini who broke the silence.  "What'ss that you're reading?" she asked as she jabbed her tail in the direction of the book that lay forgotten on the seat next to Tom.

"It's a book about the Chamber of Secrets," Tom answered simply.

"Chamber of Ssecretss?"  Nagini asked quizzically.

"Yeah.  Supposedly, Salazar Slytherin – who was one of the founders of Hogwarts – created a covert chamber of which none of the other founders knew," Tom answered.  He was surprised that talking with Nagini was proving beneficial – he no longer felt himself dwelling on Gwendolyn.  "Somewhere in the school there is a chamber that holds a monster that could be controlled by Slytherin… and his heir."

Nagini, who had been swaying as the train jostled along the tracks, froze – every muscle in her body was taut.  "Did you ssay… monster?"

"Well, that's what I read in different books…  Do you know anything about it, Nagini?"

"I won't sspeak of it!" she whispered urgently.  "There is only one beast Slytherin would imprison!"

"How do you know about Slytherin?"

"Are you daft?  My caretaker before you was none other than Gwendolyn Merriwyther!  I owe more than my life to that woman – she taught me more than you could ever imagine."

Tom pressed a bit more, "But what do you know about Slytherin?"

"I – as you _should_ – know that Ssalazar Sslytherin is the most famouss Parsseltongue in the history of wizardry.  How many creaturesss do you think he would keep in his chamber?  There is but one – the king of sserpentss; nothing is feared by magical and mundane beastss alike.  All things fear and flee its wrath."

"King of serpents…" Tom whispered to himself as his brow furrowed.  With clarity, Tom remembered the dream he had had of what he was sure was the Chamber of Secrets.  Curled on the floor, there had been an enormous snake…

Soon after his conversation with Nagini, a wizard Tom assumed to be the conductor on the train entered his compartment.  Hastily, Tom ushered Nagini into the bag in which she had originally been a stowaway.  He then smiled winningly at the man standing in the doorway.

"Hello, sir," Tom said respectively.

"Good afternoon, young master.  I'm going from compartment to compartment to tell all passengers that we're experiencing a bit of technical difficulty – " he broke off as, at that very moment the train lunged ahead, and violently threw Tom's belongings to the floor.  The conductor's calm demeanor instantly shattered, and Tom saw him grasp the doorframe for support.  "We'll be stopping as soon as possible," he finished hastily.  Tom rushed to the open door in time to see the man hurtling towards the engine at the front of the train.  Not a minute following his run-in with the conductor, the train began to slow, and Tom quickly collected his things.

"Are you okay?" he softly asked Nagini.

Contemptuously, she looked up into his face from where she laid, bruised, in the bag.  However, she refused to say anything.

Tom insolently snapped the bag closed and said, more to himself than Nagini, "That _wasn't_ my fault!"

When the train finally stopped, Tom emerged from his compartment with his luggage, and looked at the scant number of other passengers on the train.  He then absorbed his surroundings – a pathetically small train station sat in the midst of a grassy glen.  Its clapboard walls were leaning to one side, and Tom was sure the entire establishment would collapse at any moment.  

A worker on the train clad in pinstriped overalls soon made his appearance.  Abashedly, he admitted, "Due ter a bit of a _problem, _the Hogwarts Express, we'll be needin' to find you all an alternate means of transportation."

As a whole, the small throng of former passengers glanced skeptically at the shanty of a train station.

Chuckling a bit, the conductor answered their unvoiced question, "Naw, you won't be takin' a train from _that_ station.  A wizard in this town is going ter be providin' us with a few portkeys to get you all ter yer destinations."

While many in the group nodded their heads gratefully, Tom felt a fear creep into his stomach.  Not for the first time, Tom cursed his ignorance of the wizarding world.

"Pardon me," he began when he turned to an older woman with bushy white hair, "Could you tell me what a portkey is?"

She cackled a bit before answering, "You don't know what a portkey is?  Are you a bit slow?"

Tom could feel his face warming when he shook his head.

"No?  Hm.  Well, a portkey is just a way to get from one destination to another.  You know what a 'destination' is?"

"Yes, I know what a 'destination' is," Tom answered, glowering.  Purposefully, he excused himself, and strode away from the woman he concluded to be a hag.

"Young master!"  Tom heard.  Instinctively, he turned, and saw the wizard that had spoken to him on the train walk towards him.  "If you head towards the front of the train, you can be one of the first people to get a portkey to London."

"Thanks, sir," Tom replied.  Having taken the man's advice, Tom began the long walk to the head of the train.  After five minutes, he finally arrived where the sorry-looking train began, and approached a man who was standing by a small mound of junk.

"Excuse me, is this where I can take a portkey?"

"Aye," The wrinkled man answered.  "You take this one – " he handed tom a cracked milk bottle " – it's to get goin' in about… oh, thirty seconds."

Tom's pulse quickened when he thought about what might happen.  Suddenly, Tom felt himself be pulled violently away from the train yard.  Unable to let go of the bottle, Tom could only concentrate on the sensation of his body wanting to separate from the world.

In the blink of an eye, however, everything stopped.  Tom opened one eye, and could see that he sat sprawled on the floor in the midst of bustling Muggles.  _So, I've arrived in London_, he thought to himself.

Tom grabbed his trunk (which had somehow managed to survive the trip via portkey) and began the long walk to The Benevolent Heart Orphanage.  He trudged through the dirty, slushy snow that lined the cobbled streets for twelve blocks before the stone building came into view.  He walked one final block, and finally reached the stoop that led to the large front doors.  Not bothering to knock, Tom let himself into the cramped orphanage entry hall, and called, "Hello?  Gwendolyn?"

Instead of being received by the merry woman, the coarse voice of Mr. McFarland echoed through the hallway, "Gwendolyn's _not_ here.  I let that pig of a woman go days ago.  You'd better beat it before I call the authorities.  Until summer, anytime _you_ step foot on this property you will be trespassing!"

Almost in a state of shock, Tom quickly carried his belongings outside and stood, bewildered, on the icy steps.  Just as snow began to fall, the door squeaked open once more.  Tom, expecting another verbal assault, squeezed his eyes shut.

"Tom?" came the timid voice of a young girl.

He whirled around to see a girl named Rebecca peaking through the crack in the door.  Her curly brown hair blew softly in the wind.  Tom smiled at her.

"Are you looking for Gwendolyn?" she asked timidly.

Despairingly, he answered, "Yes, but now I have no idea where to look!"

"She – she had to go live in the streets," Rebecca whimpered.  Like Tom, Rebecca had always been especially close to Gwendolyn.

"She was living in the streets!" Tom exclaimed.  "But, it's freezing out here she – " he stopped suddenly.  He ran to the door, gave Rebecca a quick hug, and sprinted down the street abandoning his trunk on the sidewalk.

Ignoring his gasping breath and the painful stitch in his side, Tom ran until he came to a large, crumbling building – the only hospital in London that would accept destitute patients.  He burst through its doors, and ran to a woman he presumed to be a receptionist.

"I need to find my friend!" he said.

Calmly, the woman flipped open a book in which numerous names had been written.  "What's your friend's name?"

"Eth – er – Gwendolyn Merriwyther."

Compassion filled the woman's eyes.  "Gwendolyn?  Come with me…"

Tom followed the woman who was walking briskly down the darkened hallways.  She came to a room, and nodded sadly at Tom to go inside.  What Tom saw when he pushed open the door nearly made him cry out in anguish.

The woman – his idol and the only mother he had known – lay on a bed in a hospital room crowded with at least twenty other occupants.

"Gwendolyn?"  Tom breathed, unable to believe his eyes.  Gwendolyn, who had always been a plump woman, had, evidently, lost quite a bit of weight quickly.  Her skin hung about her frame giving her the look of an old, wrinkled woman.  Also, her usually rosy completion had turned the pallid color of one who has spent years of her life as an invalid.

Languidly, Gwendolyn tried to greet Tom, "Hello… dear…" She said, gasping for breath.  A nurse bustled into the room and pressed a button.  Instantly, Gwendolyn's breathing became easier.  She smiled weakly at Tom and said, "I'm glad you could come, Tom."

"What happened to you?" was all that Tom could think to ask.

"Oh, well…  Mr. McFarland – somehow – found out what I am.  After disparaging and degrading me for an hour, he decided he could bear to work with the likes of me," she smiled sadly at the though.  The effort of speaking caused her to begin coughing.  The coughs wracked her frame, and Tom had to turn his head to hide the pain on his face.  "I'd been living below a bridge for about a fortnight before I became ill," she finished weakly.

"You were living on the street for two weeks, in this weather?"  Tom asked incredulously.  "Why didn't you owl me?  I would have helped you, Gwendolyn!"

"Don't you fret over me, Tom.  You couldn't have done anything, and you know it," she replied, her voice raspy.

Tom knew Gwendolyn was in no way blaming him, but he couldn't help feel guilty.

Gwendolyn grasped his hand.

"You're freezing, Gwen!" Tom said.  "Let me get you some more blankets – "

"Tom, you have to listen to me – " she paused to allow a fit of coughs pass.  "I haven't much time left on this Earth.  I know what you're doing – your mother pursued the dream as well – but you mustn't let it rule your life, Tom!  The Chamber is dangerous, more so than you could ever know.  You must promise me that you will forget about the Chamber.  In my youth I was… well, I was a friend of your mother.  But in maturity, I know what we did was foolish.  If you continue with your work, you're going to undo what witches and wizards have worked so hard to establish…  Promise me, Tom!"  She ended her speech shrilly.  However, having used her energy, she collapsed on the bed, and her breathing became shallow and labored.

Tom escaped her grip, and backed into a wall.  He edged along the wall, and dashed through the door to get a doctor, "Help!" He screamed.  "Help!  My friend needs help – she's dying!"  When this proclamation didn't create the frenzy of help he had anticipated, he forcibly grabbed the arm of a man in a white lab coat who was reading a file as he walked down the hall.  Tom dragged the man into Gwendolyn's room, and he instantly became focused.  He took Gwendolyn's pulse and checked various machines.  Gwendolyn stirred a bit then sagged against the wall her bed was pushed against.  For the first time during his reunion with Gwendolyn, her countenance assumed a tranquil look, and she no longer struggled to breath.  However, the doctor instantly slipped as he took his shaking hand away from the machine he was studying. 

The doctor hung his head, and his voice broke as he announced, "She's gone."

Tom's first instinct was to deny the doctor's accusation.  Tom opened his mouth to unleash a string of insults to the doctor for lying to him. "What happened to her?" Tom demanded of him instead.

The doctor, not accustomed to Tom's imprudence, answered reluctantly, "I'm not her doctor.  I'll inform Doctor O'Connell of his patient's… demise.  He will hold counsel with you shortly.

Tom waited in the large room, unable to tear his eyes away from Gwendolyn, yet painfully aware of the other patients that watched him expectantly.  The minutes passed until Tom had been waiting for half an hour.  Finally, a young-looking doctor with red hair approached Tom.

"What happened to her?"  Tom asked, not for the first time.

"The old woman's been living on the street, and it's the middle of February – what did you expect?  It's no picnic out there," the doctor answered harshly.

"But she can't be dead," Tom retorted as the tried to force the doctor to use common sense.  "Check again!"

"Listen, kid, this woman came to this hospital with hypothermia and pneumonia.  It's even a miracle she survived this long."

Fighting the urge to go on a rampage and destroy every pathetic thing owned by the hospital, Tom ran through the corridors, through the lobby, and outside where the snow was falling heavily, obscuring the world.  Tom ran and ran until he stood before the orphanage.  The orphanage had never looked more like a prison than it did now.  Storming up the stairs and into the warmth of the orphanage, Tom confronted Mr. McFarland.

"You _killed_ her!" He screamed.

"What are you talking about, you filthy urchin?" He replied.

"Gwendolyn is _dead_ because you sent her to die on the streets!"

"It's nothing more than she deserved, lying to me all these years."

Following McFarland's last statement, Tom was no longer able to control himself.  The anger bubbling inside him was so intense that Tom was literally seeing read.  Without warning, Mr. McFarland doubled over, and howled with pain.

Fearing what was to come, Tom spotted his trunk, and dragged it through the crowd of orphans that had gathered – and was now parting in trepidation of Tom.

"Somebody – call – the police!" Mr. McFarland bellowed in between whimpers of pain.

Whether someone _did_ call the police, Tom didn't know.  He bewitched his trunk, and ran as fast as he could through London streets – paying no heed to the suspicious looks he received.

_To be continued…_

**A/N**:  I hope my little attempt to make a riddle in the form of poetry wasn't too atrocious.  But I felt this would be a better way to guide Tom along than to merely have had his mother make a list of clues to entering the Chamber…  Also, I hope this story kept your attention – when I first started writing this chapter I had quasi-writer's block.  It sort of went away, towards the second half of the story (I wonder if it's obvious…).  Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this chapter (and aren't to mad at me for killing Gwendolyn – it was heart wrenching for me to do – my own OC – but, unfortunately, it serves a purpose).

'Thank You' To:

**WhetherRose**:  What would a 'thank you' be without you at the top of the list?  You (and T.H and Hollie, of course!) make writing worthwhile.  Reading your encouraging, helpful reviews has helped me tremendously!  Without you, I probably wouldn't have started editing my stories *before* I post them, and I wouldn't have smiled nearly so often!  I can't wait to see that you've updated A Life Passed By – I'm checking your page daily *sigh* but, as of yet, to no avail.  Oh well, I know it will be worth the wait!  Thanks again!

**Hollie**:  Welcome to The Tale of Tom Riddle!  I'm glad you like it – I'm quite proud of this story.  I loved reading your review – it was so amusing.  I liked that you referred to Voldemort as a "homicidal maniac."  To answer you question (as I don't think it will particularly detract from the overall story), Letifer is Draco's grandfather and Lucius' father.  Did you ever wonder *how* Lucius knew about the Chamber of Secrets being opened?  Anywho, whenever you get to this chapter, thanks bunches!

**T.H**:  Thank you so much for your reviews (on *both* stories)!  I love having you as a consistent reviewer – I know lots of people aren't nearly as fortunate as me to have such wonderful reviewers frequent my stories!  Thanks again!  Oh, one more thing, I hope you noticed I *finally* reviewed all the chapters to the Master's Mirror…  And now I'm waiting anxiously for the newest chapter…  And it's not fun!  I hope you can post it soon – I'm not pleasant when I get impatient (just kidding *sigh* I will wait quietly just like everyone else…)

**Serina**:  Ah, my fellow Tom-fic writer!  I want to tell you that I *haven't* abandoned your story – I was reading T.H's story (because *I* was holding up the newest chapter!  Eek!), and I plan to finish reading yours very, very soon.  Anyway, thanks for the reviews!

**Bonita Knows All**:  *Moves guiltily*.  Erm, did I ever leave a reply for your second chapter?  I don't think I did…  But I *did* read it, and it was much better than your first chapter.  I'm glad you didn't abandon your story!  Thanks for the reply, Erin – erm – Bonita!

**Babyphatcat13 and Mard**:  Thanks again for the replies.  And (to babyphatcat13) thanks for the replies on the TF site!

**Also, thanks to**:  Kitty Nicoe, HarryPotterMagic32, S. Nicolai, my dad, Melissa, Sara Minks, and Azalias Malfoy for leaving reviews!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:**        The characters and idea of this fan fiction come from the mind of J.K. Rowling

**Summary:**         This is my version of Tom Riddle's life, and his journey to evil.

**A/N:**                   I wanted to apologize—I didn't mean to take so long to write this chapter, but I wasn't completely satisfied with it when I finished it last weekend.

The Tale of Tom Riddle

Chapter 5

Late Winter, 1939

Tom ran desperately through the streets of London.  Breathlessly he paused to lean against a cold, stone building, allowing his trunk to continue to levitate a few inches off the ground.  At that moment, he noticed several policemen running down the sidewalk towards Tom.  Without a second thought, he pointed his wand at his trunk, and followed it down a dark, wind-whipped alley.  He slid into a crevice created by two buildings, and tried to tame his harsh breathing and rampant heart beat.  Until this moment, Tom hadn't considered this dire situation.  He had no way to contact anyone in the wizarding community, and the Hogwarts Express wouldn't be leaving London again for three days.  Tom didn't think Mr. McFarland would be keen on letting him stay at the orphanage for a few days.  Suddenly, the world seemed darker, the wind seemed to slice through his clothes and bite his skin.

Near hysterics, Tom held his forehead in his hands, and tried to decide what he should do.  An odd sensation began at one of Tom's feet, and crept until he felt it in his shin and knee.  He looked down and saw Nagini.

"Not ignoring me anymore?" Tom snapped.

"Sstop, Tom!  Thiss iss neither the time nor the place for ssenssless bickering.  I can't ssurvive in this cold—you've got to do something!" Nagini insisted.

Tom bit his lip as he tried to think of what he should do.  Ignoring the strict rules imposed by the Ministry of Magic, Tom pulled his wand from his trunk, and uttered a few words that caused a small, but intensely warm fire to leap from the very snow-covered ground.  Contentedly, Nagini slithered back down Tom's leg and coiled before the fire.  For Tom, however, his work was not done.  The magical fire alone would not protect them from the fierce winter days, let alone the nights.  He pushed his trunk to the opening of the crack between the two buildings to block the wink, and began rummaging through it to find warmer clothes and food.  From the wooden trunk he extracted three of his Hogwarts robes and a sweater, all of which he hastily put on.

However, once the articles of clothing had been removed, the trunk looked sadly bare, as it now held only the library's book of Salazar Slytherin.  Deciding he could hunt for food later, Tom brushed snow away from a spot near the fire and sat with the book in his hands.  He traced the picture on the cover—an angry-looking snake that looked as if it were about the spring—before opening the book.  The title of the book was simply, Salazar Slytherin, and was printed by Schlanglandpresse in the year 889, which caused Tom to believe that some form of anti-aging charm had been placed on the volume to prevent its destruction.  Not a speck of dirt or dust defiled the handsome leather cover, and there were no signs of wear on the pages.

He had just begun to vaguely flip through the pages when a slight rustle captured his attention.  Nagini had shifted and was staring fixedly at a point in the sky.  Quickly, Tom discovered what she was looking at.  A large, soaring shape was gliding rapidly towards Tom and Nagini.  Just when Tom shut his eyes against the collision he expected to have with the bird, a letter floated gently into Tom's lap.  Nagini's eyes never left the bird, and Tom could feel her disdain as though it radiated like heat from a fire.

'Riddle –

The owners of the poor hospital tried to force me to take this.  Included is a box of all of Gwendolyn's worldly 'possessions' as well as this smutty owl.  The only reason I'm giving you this garbage is because it's cheaper to send it to you than to pay to have it dragged away.

F.  McFarland

P.S.  Don't expect a home to come back to after the summer holidays.'

Ignoring the lack of sentimentality the note included, Tom looked closely at the parcel a large owl with silvery feathers tinged red was carrying.  The owl peered at Tom through brilliantly orange eyes that seemed to capture a blazing inferno in their depths.  Its head was cocked so it looked as though it were waiting for something.  Suddenly, Tom realized what the owl wanted.  With frigid hands, Tom carefully untied the strings attaching the large box from the owl's legs.  Giving Tom a contented hoot, the owl flew from the site where Tom sat on the icy sidewalk.  Curiously, Tom watched it for a moment – the great bird circled three times before seeming to float back to the earth, and with a jolt it landed on Tom's shoulder.  Quizzically, Tom looked at the bird.

"You know, don't you?  You know Gwendolyn's gone," he said.  In response, the owl blinked slowly, and Tom was astonished to see a pearly tear skim the hoary feathers of the owl's face.  Not knowing what to make of the owl's actions, Tom broke the strings binding the parcel now sitting in his lap.  Inside the hastily assembled package, he found an assortment of pictures and trinkets that would hold value only to Tom, as they once had Gwendolyn.  He pulled out a photograph, originally black and white, but now yellowed with age, in which two women were laughing joyfully.  One woman laid a hand protectively on her bulging belly, and gently nudged the other as though she were warning the other woman to stop making her laugh.  However, inevitably, they once more collapsed in giggles.  Tom, smiling sadly, flipped the snapshot to look at the back.  In the small, neat script Tom knew at once to be Gwendolyn's the phrase, '_Elle and I – April, 1927._'

"Elle…" Tom whispered, confused.  Gradually the meaning dawned on him, "Elle… Eloise.  That's my mum – and me."  Never in his life had Tom seen an actual photograph of his mother.  When he looked at the picture once more, he recognized that the woman now grasping her friend's shoulder, laughing hysterically, _was_ the same woman he had seen in his dream.  The images on the rigid paper swam, and instead of two laughing young women, in his mind's eye, he saw the same two women – one lay sprawled limply on the floor, and the other cradling a tiny boy and sobbing into her arms.

Guiltily, Tom pushed the photograph aside and turned back to the present and the contents in the box.

Once again, Tom reached into the box to see a photograph – a Muggle photograph, he noticed – of his mother and a man… with the same features as Tom.  Despite the fact that the image was a yellowed black-and-white, Tom could see the man dressed in wedding attire had dark hair and stormy gray eyes.  He was staring, adoringly, at Eloise.  Eloise's wavy, light hair partially hid her face, but couldn't mask the fact that, despite her seemingly happy grin, she was withholding something from her husband.  Tom glanced once more at his father, and passionately tore the picture in half.  The half in which his mother's naïve, happy face showed, he stowed gently in his coat pocket, and he allowed the half containing his father to waft in the wind as a gust blew through the darkened alley Tom was sitting.

The final picture Tom looked at showed to small figures not immediately recognizable.  A girl with untamed, fair hair stood with a wand clutched in one hand by her side as she smiled timidly at the camera, despite her Hogwarts hat that perched jauntily on her head.  Her companion, as Tom watched, linked elbows with the other girl, brushed her dark hair out of her eyes with her wand, and flashed an enormous grin at the camera.  When he flipped the photo over, Tom saw words written in a young-looking scrawl:

'_Sept. 1st, 1916 – Our first day at Hogwarts_

_My friend Eloise Evanly is pretty nervous, but surely Hogwarts can't be _all _bad_'

Tom placed that photograph with the first he had seen, and placed the box in his lap and saw, for the first time, a letter addressed simply to 'Tom.'  Curiously, he read the letter Gwendolyn had written.

'Dear Tom,

As I write this letter, I know my time to move towards  ethereal dimensions draws near.  By now, I believe you know that my carefully guarded secret has reached the ears of Ferdinand McFarland.  I will not torture you with the location of my "home" since I exited Benevolent Heart.  My savings have been invested in your Hogwarts fund, so you should have enough money to attend Hogwarts for your seven years.  I know you, Tom, so I know that you will feel guilty; but you mustn't – you can do great things, and I feel that your education is more important than anything I might achieve by renting a room for a few months.  Again, don't blame yourself.  This was a decision I made due to my unwavering loyalty and love to you and your mother.  Because I am now unable to do this in person, I'm going to write the history of your mother—your history.

Both your mother and myself grew up in the small, entirely Wizarding community of Schlange's Mire.  British wizards don't often boast of this community because they see the people that live there as being somewhat backward.  Despite the fact that with distant reflection I have decided the old ways of Schlange's Mire could be considered primitive, my fierce pride for the village perhaps blinds me and keeps me from disliking the old place.  The people in the village are very tight-knit—indeed, they almost intervened to keep Eloise and I from leaving.  They felt our innocent minds would be tainted by the "big world outside."  Leaving Schlange's Mire was perhaps my best decision regardless of my fondness for the village—nothing the village offered would have compensated for Elle's and my education at Hogwarts.  However, if you ever need answers, visit Schlange's Mire.

At Hogwarts, your mother was sorted into Slytherin and I into Ravenclaw.  Unlike most students in our position, we maintained the closest of relationships, even going so far as to sneak one another into to our common rooms in the middle of the night.  Two closer friends couldn't be found in Hogwarts.  There was but one secret Elle ever kept from me.  In our fourth year, I spent a school year at Beauxbatons for an exchange program, and when I returned to the Mire for the summer, your mother was completely dissipated.  For months I tried to convince her to tell me what had happened over the school year as she gradually became weaker and paler.  It wasn't until Christmas, though, that she'd tell me.  She had spent her entire fourth year, and a part of her fifth to find the mythical Chamber of Secrets.  I could never convince her to tell me whether she had found it or not.

I forgot the Chamber when we left Hogwarts, and your mother fell in love.  Day after day she would tell me of her wonderful husband, for whom you are named, but under her words was an underlying guilt and sadness.  She begged for my advice as to whether she should tell her husband, and I knew she wanted me to say 'yes.'  But I knew Tom Riddle.  To all but Eloise, he was rude, hateful.  No one was up to his standards—he hinted that Eloise should abandon her friendship with me because I was not wealthy as he and his parents were.  Consistently, I warned my friend against her husband, whom she thought loved her deeply and unconditionally.  What her love concealed from her, I saw clearly.  I noticed her feeble attempts to make excuses for the man she claimed to love.  I noticed the bruises on her wrists when she angered him.  But always she told me, "He promised to change."  "Can he?" I would answer, and beg Eloise to leave Tom Riddle before it was too late.  Then she came to me, her face was slack and her eyes vacant.  In a faraway voice she explained that she had told her husband everything.  "Calmly, he listened," she said.  "I thought he forgave my lies," at this she couldn't help but weep.  Finally, she looked at me and uttered, "He's gone back to his parents, but he swore he would ruin me!"  All that your mother worried about was you, Tom—she was apprehensive about your birth.  Oh, Tom Riddle was sly about his promise of ruin.  Rather than spread slanderous lies, he used subtlety to devastate Eloise.  Knowing that neither she nor I could support a child financially, he refused to send her money.  No hospital would accept Elle, and she knew it.  When you were born, we were forced into the very worst substitute for a hospital, but the details are too appalling to write now, today.

The twilight draws near, Tom, and I must conclude my letter.  For the rest of your days, remember that I love you as my own son, and would have done anything in my power to make you happy.  I only regret that you must return to Benevolent Heart without a welcoming face to greet you.  May the scant mementos in this box always be reminders of those who loved you.

Lovingly,

Ethel Gwendolyn Merriwyther'

An unfounded, insane hatred in every fiber of his being as Tom read and reread this letter.  How could the world steal from Tom the two people on the planet that loved him?  How could people get away with these merciless acts?  Tom's anger gave him a strange sense of clarity.  Looking down the alley, he remembered the bird, and was taken aback to see the bird's eyes bore into his.  Without a signal, the bird beat its powerful wings and flew to Tom, who, instinctively, stretched his arm to be parallel with the ground.  The surprisingly light bird landed easily on his arm, and Tom scribbled a short note to Headmaster Dippet explaining his debacle.  As soon as Tom folded the note, the owl grabbed it in her beak, and flew towards the lightened end of the alleyway.

Tom brushed a slight wetness that he dismissed as a snowflake from his cheek and watched the owl's figure grow smaller and smaller as it flew into the dusk.  Without warning, he became overwhelmed with a feeling of utter exhaustion, and Tom curled next to the now slumbering Nagini and slipped into what might have been confused as an enchanted sleep.

*~*~*

Tom shifted and squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding brightness of the sun and tried to fall back asleep.  However, his eyes flew open when he had the sensation of being watched.  He jumped slightly when he saw Nagini's triangular visage inches from his nose.

"Good morning, Tom," Nagini said.

"Morning," Tom answered gruffly, as he rolled to his side, thinking to sleep.  Only while slumbering did he seek solace from his pain.  He despised the sky, whose crystal firmament was flecked with wisps of cloud, and whose sun shone brightly and defiantly despite Tom's grief.  Longing for nothing more than to be once more engulfed by the blanket of sleep that guarded against sorrow, he was displeased to be interrupted by Nagini.

"Do you know how long you sslept?"

"No," Tom answered sharply as he threw an arm to cover his ear.

"You've sslept long enough for your _friend_ to return."

At this, Tom raised his head slightly, and glanced questioningly at Nagini, who merely tossed her head in the direction of a wooden post, on which was seated the silvery-red owl, which was preening herself.  When the owl noticed Tom was awake, she flew to Tom and gave him a hastily written letter from Professor Dippet, which informed Tom that he should meet a wizard south of the Benevolent Heart Orphanage to take him back to Hogwarts.

"How long did I sleep?" Tom breathed to himself.

"A day and a half," Nagini stated matter-of-factly.

"A day and a half?  But that impossible!"

"Not under sspecial circumsstancess," Nagini answered ominously.

Not wishing to play Nagini's mind games, Tom tersely informed her that they must go to the orphanage.  She slithered into Tom's trunk, and Tom picked up the fire—that was cool to the touch—and put it in the box with her.  Deciding once more spell couldn't hurt, Tom make his trunk levitate an inconspicuous inch off the ground, and trudged through the slushy snow to the orphanage.

*~*~*

Sullenly, Tom kicked a pebble into a gutter as he neared the Benevolent Heart and wondered how he'd know which person should take him back to Hogwarts.  He glanced at the orphanage and saw Albus Dumbledore, who had obviously not tried to disguise himself—his long auburn hair and beard fluttered in the cool breeze as did the hem of his blue robes.  His steady, solemn gaze met Tom's for a moment before he forced a smile.

"Good afternoon, Tom, I—" he suddenly stopped and glanced at the owl (that had followed Tom the whole time he had been traipsing through London).  "Wrion," Tom heard him utter.  "How did you come in possession of that bird?" Dumbledore inquired.

Shrugging slightly, Tom answered, "It belonged to Gwendolyn… it's been following me all day."

"Wrion has been following _you_ all day?" Dumbledore repeated softly.  "How curious…  Well, we really should return to Hogwarts.  I've borrowed a portkey from the owners of the Hogwarts Express.  As I'm sure you're aware, the train is in temporary disrepair."  Professor Dumbledore extended a newspaper for Tom to grasp.  Instantly, Tom felt the familiar twinge, as a hook seemed to pull him through space.  He landed, on his knees, in the Hogsmeade train station.

"I'll help you with your trunk, Tom," Professor Dumbledore said as he seized one of the trunk's handles.  Gratefully Tom smiled, and began walking towards Hogwarts.  "Tom," Dumbledore said simply.  "I can't carry this trunk alone."

Tom rolled his eyes before turning once more towards the tall professor.  He took the trunk's other handle, and the two began heaving the trunk.  Professor Dumbledore was smiling serenely, while Tom gritted his teeth, and wondered why they couldn't just levitate the trunk.

After nearly fifteen minutes, Tom and Dumbledore crossed the threshold of Hogwarts.  "Okay, Tom.  It's about time for dinner—why don't you go to the Great Hall, and I'll have your trunk taken to your dormitory.  Without a word, Tom walked to the Great Hall to join his companions.

"Hi, Tom," Letifer greeted Tom around a mouthful of potatoes.

"Hullo, Letifer."

"Where've you been?  Professor Bane wouldn't tell us anything—his own house!  I dunno if you've noticed but you have a tendency to completely disappear."

"I told you I was leaving," Tom said, hoping Letifer would get the hint that he didn't want to talk; he especially didn't want to talk about 'where he was.'

"But you didn't say where you were going," Letifer pressed.

"I went to London."

"Oh," Letifer said.  Tom breathed a sigh of relief as Letifer shoveled another spoonful of potatoes into his mouth.  "What did you do in London?"

Tom grimaced.  "It doesn't concern you.  You don't need to know."

"Keeping secrets, are we?" Letifer asked coolly.  "No matter.  I'll find out.  You might compare our statuses, Riddle.  My father's given more money to this school than you'll see in your life.  He's powerful.  What are you?  You're nothing."

Tom clenched and unclenched his hands, and he kept his eyes on his plate as Letifer rose from his seat.  "Fine," Tom said quietly.  "You want to know?  I went to London to see the only person left who cared for me die."

Letifer's emotionless eyes looked steadily at Tom.  "A Muggle?" he asked distastefully.  Tom shook his head.  "Well, then, how tragic."  With those words, Letifer walked quickly away from Tom and the Great Hall, leaving Tom to, once again, become immersed in his lonely grief.

Deciding he was no longer hungry, Tom left the Great Hall.  Tom walked slowly down corridors and passageways until he was sure he was lost.  He pulled out his wand and uttered, "Lumos," so a dim light spilled across the hallway.  A large door rested in its frame a mere twenty paces from where he stood.  Curious, Tom pushed it open.  Inside the room a room was filled with thousands of books.  Tom furrowed his brow—this wasn't the entrance to the library.  Then he realized that he was looking at the library from a different perspective.  If he took one step, Tom would be in the Restricted Section of the library.  Glancing behind him to make sure no one would witness him enter this forbidden region, Tom stepped gingerly on the stone floor, as though he expected alarms to blare.  For a moment he stood so still that he could have heard the whispering of the feet of a mouse brush against stone.  Faintly, he thought he heard breathing, but when nothing happened, he dismissed the sound as a figment of his imagination, and proceeded to enter the library, and walk leisurely down the aisles of books, occasionally pausing to read passages in books.  One volume outlined ancient magic practiced by Vikings.  Tom, who hadn't thought the Norse to be particularly skilled in the realm of magic, was interested to read about the fabled Balder.  He soon became engrossed in the extremely difficult magic detailed in the book's pages as he read about the accomplishments the Norse wizards had achieved.  There was even an enchantment to make a witch or wizard immortal.  Tom quickly became disinterested when he read that no witch or wizard, that wasn't of Norse decent, had ever lived through the exhausting spell.

The minutes slipped away, and Tom heard a faraway clock chime the eleventh hour.  Only dimly considering he had been in the library for five hours, Tom reached for a final book.  This particular book was gilded and inlaid with reddish stones that seemed to glow despite the darkness of the library.  Tom opened the book and began to read about legendary witches and wizards of the sixteenth century when he suddenly became engulfed in a putrid, hazy smoke.  Coughing and sputtering, Tom tried to escape the suffocating smoke.  Rows of books passed in a blur as Tom strove to reach the door before he needed to breathe again.  However, he stopped short.

"It's gone," he breathed as he looked at where the door had been.  The shelves now formed seamlessly to the wall, creating an impenetrable barrier.  Wildly he began ripping books from their shelves to find a handle or something to trigger the door to open.  A clamorous noise filled the library.  Tom, wrapped in his own dilemma, refused to acknowledge that the door was gone.  Finally, after he stood in a small mountain of strewn books, Tom turned to look towards the regular library door.  And gasped as his breath caught in his throat.  The smoke that now retained a sickeningly green color and, while radiating an eerie light, spelled the phrase, '_Tom Marvolo Riddle._'

Panicking, Tom grasped his wand in a shaky hand.  "Be gone!" he bellowed, to no avail.  "I command you to disappear!"  Still pointing his wand at the script, Tom began muttering every incantation he knew, and even created a few of his own.  Suddenly, an enormous skull with a serpent for a tongue forced itself from the tip of Tom's wand.  Frozen in fear, Tom watched as it reared its skeletal head and consumed the tangible evidence of Tom's infringement of the library's strict rules.  The skull now turned to Tom, and began to float towards him, mouth gaping.  His mouth frozen in a silent scream, Tom watched in horror as it hovered nearer and nearer to where he stood.  Inches from Tom, the skull stopped.  As if filled with helium, the skull rose so it hovered above Tom, nearly brushing the library's ceiling.

Tom couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.  As far as he was concerned, he had just survived a brush with death.  He then looked around.  Books were strewn across the floor, and the smoke had tarnished some of the books and bookcases a slight green color.  To make matters worse, Tom heard a door squeak open.

"What's goin' on in here?" A gruff voice roared.

At once, Tom fled the scene of his crime, and hid behind a trolley bearing books needing to be reshelved.  He heard the heavy footfalls belonging to Hogwarts' caretaker—Archibald Hale—draw nearer and nearer.  It was rumored among Hogwarts' students that Archibald Hale could sense a student who was breaking the rules.  Tom, who usually didn't hold much truth in such claims, was now considerably less sure of himself and desperately hoping his classmates were mistaken.  Another commonly held belief was that Hale used forms of torture to punish students who were found to be wandering the school after-hours.

The moment Hale passed Tom, he sprinted towards the library door.  He heard Archibald Hale emit what sounded like a low growl before Tom ran through passages to get to the Slytherin dungeons.  However, he was forced to skid to a halt when he chanced upon to figures walking and talking in the shadows at the end of the corridor.

"Don't you understand what this means, Armando?" came the voice of Albus Dumbledore.  "Few people know about _Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose_, and for good reason.  Can you imagine the suspicion that would be raised?"

"I'm still not convinced that this '_Dio Vesper_' spell works at all.  Transfiguration is your area of expertise, not Defense Against the Dark Arts.  How do you know that's what hit young Mr. Riddle that day?"  Armando Dippet asked half-heartedly.

"I've _told_ you already—no other spell causes a person to become transparent as Tom was!" Dumbledore answered impatiently.

"Fine, fine… so what does '_Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose_' do?"

Dumbledore was near the breaking point.  "You're not taking this seriously at all," Dumbledore said in an overly calm voice.  However, he answered the question asked of him, "It means 'by day good; by night evil.'  The spell is used to find a witch or wizard that is associated with the Dark Arts.  To have a first year intercept it is… unbelievable, to say the least."

"Unbelievable—precisely.  Your evidence is somewhat faulty, I'm afraid, for you cannot be correct.  A first year _can't_ be linked to the Dark Arts, especially a first year coming from a Muggle life.  It's unheard of!  Perhaps Tom somehow came in contact with a Draining Draught or a Concealment Concoction.  There are thousands of explanations to disprove your justification, each making your_ Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose_ to sound ludicrous," Professor Dippet stated, his anger mounting inside.

"So my explanation is 'ludicrous'?  Well what about yours?  Both Draining Draughts and Concealment Concoctions—the only other elements I know to cause transparency—are banned from Hogwarts because of their potential to go awry, so how would he have had access to either potion?" Dumbledore countered, his voice remaining even, but firm.  "However, I saw with my own eyes the color of the light that issued from the boy's wand.  And I know that the antidote used to treat _Dio Vesper_ will do naught but cause instantaneous death if given to someone who does not have the protection of his Dark Arts.  You are naïve, Armando, to think that no first year has the capabilities to go against what you and I stand for.  You must consider this threat!"

For the first time during the conversation, Professor Dippet laughed heartily.  "You would consider Tom Riddle a threat?  My good friend, what do you think first-year books teach?  The Unforgivable Curses?  That's not until _second_ year!" Once again, he laughed.  Professor Dumbledore, however, remained silent and erect.

"I'm glad to see you can make light of this situation, Headmaster," Professor Dumbledore said quietly.  "I should be returning to my chamber to sleep before classes tomorrow.  We will, however, see how the scenario unfolds soon, I feel."

Tom, who had until now stood listening to the teachers' conversation in plain few, now ducked behind a suit of armor as Professor Dumbledore swept past him towards Gryffindor Tower, and Professor Dippet sauntered towards his office, still chuckling at the absurdity of his and Dumbledore's conversation.  Just as Tom felt he could safely move away from his hiding place, he heard a deafening sound echo and reverberate through the corridor.  Tom ducked so only his eyes were visible, and watched as Archibald Hale practically flew through the passage.  Seconds after he had passed Tom, he heard the caretaker bellow, "Professors!  I think yeh need to go ter the library!"

Only then did Tom remember the skull that had been left in the library.

_To be continued…_

Thanks to:

**WhetherRose**:  First and foremost, thank you so much for the review!  I loved reading your last review—not only did you chose to use your study break to read my story, but you noticed the things I was trying to convey (which I was extremely grateful for), particularly about Gwendolyn.  I didn't want to kill her, but I thought that *would* be the best way to concentrate Tom's anger.  Also, thank you for the compliments about my poetry—it took me ages to get it to sound halfway decent (poetry doesn't seem to suit me very well, as much as I admire those who are talented at it), and I was glad when it was well received.  Thank you and thank you again.  I sincerely hope your tests went well (I think my teachers were conferring with yours—I had five tests in two days as well as play practice until ten o'clock.  Ugh, I'm ready to return to a regular sleeping pattern.  How long is summer…?), and hopefully you'll be able to finish (or begin, as the case may be) Casca's Beginning of the End.  She finished it, and it was absolutely wonderful!  You're going to love it, I'm sure!

**T.H**:  Hello, hello!  Thank you so much for complimenting my poetry—I almost gave up, and wrote a letter!  It's so encouraging that I have such fabulous reviewers!  You also noticed that Gwendolyn's death was meant to push Tom over the edge—I'm so grateful for you and WhetherRose… If all my reviewers had missed that detail, I would have rewritten the chapter to have Gwendolyn back.  *Sigh* I miss the character.  But Tom is getting interesting to write about *rubs hands together mischievously*.  I have his 'transformation' after Hogwarts planned out completely.  Ah, such fun.  I was wondering, are you still reading Les Mis?  If you are how are you enjoying it?  I'm positively ecstatic, because my school is performing it next year, and I'll be a senior so I'll probably get to be Cosette… *swoons*.  Ahem.  Anyway, thanks again!

**Hollie**:  Hollie, you seem to be suffering from the same lack of free time as WhetherRose and I.  Hopefully you'll find time to write soon (and read any stories you've not finished, of course).  I miss reading about Kelly and Dante!

**Oceansun**:  I wanted to thank you for starting to read this story—I hope you enjoy it!  To answer your question, yes, I am from Kansas—my sister said she met you at Girl Scout camp, I think (it was the camp that everyone got sent home early, I think).  Also, yes, I did try to make Professor Bane similar to Professor Snape, though, now, I wish I hadn't.  It would have been more ironic, I think, if Tom's head of house had been more of a kind teacher (or at least made Professor Bane teach a different subject).  Ah, well, such are the consequences of reflection.

**Also, thanks to**:  Pinefresh, Serina, Kitty Nicoe, Bonita Knows All, Babyphatcat13, Harry Potter Magic13, S. Nicolai, Sara Minks, Melissa, Azalais Malfoy


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:        **The characters and idea of this fan fiction come from the mind of J.K. Rowling

**Summary:         **Little is known about Tom Marvolo Riddle (other than the fact that he was an orphan, disowned by his Muggle father). This is how I imagine young Lord Voldemort's life to have been. 

**A/N:**                  I wanted to apologize for this chapter being so long in the making—I promise it won't take nearly so long for the next chapter!

The Tale of Tom Riddle

Chapter 6

1938

For a moment, Tom appeared to be rooted to where he was crouched behind the suit of armor.  The words of Archibald Hale resounded through his mind: _ I think yeh need to go ter the library_…  As though he had activated a film, the vision of the large, green skull spun tumultuously in his mind's eye.  Quietly, he cursed himself for leaving evidence, no matter how obscure, in the library.  Of course, there really would have been nothing he could have done—Tom had no idea how he had conjured the skull, let alone how he could have rid the library of its presence.

For the briefest of moments he contemplated his situation.  Hesitating slightly, he gazed in the direction the two professors and the caretaker, Hale, had gone.  Blinking his eyes against his decision, Tom strode purposefully towards the library.

Perhaps it was his paranoia, but Tom thought he heard whispering.  Clinging to the shadows, he looked behind him, but saw no one.  When the soft sound persisted, he stopped completely, and saw a slight movement, despite the darkness enveloping Tom's vision.  By straining his eyes, Tom was able to see that the movement he had formerly glimpsed was moving in his direction, and was steadily becoming easier to see.  In fact, it had begun to glow.  After a few scant moments, Tom realized, with a start, that he was looking upon a fearsome sort of ghost.  Suddenly, a hushed silence and eerie stillness fell across the corridor.  Unable to look away, Tom stared at this ghost dressed in garb that would most appropriately be found on a nobleman in the seventeenth century.  However, the ghost's coat was splattered randomly with silvery stains that looked, to Tom's disgust, to be blood.  Long, silver, stringy hair framed the ghost's face, which retained what appeared to be an utterly blank look—it seemed to see everything and nothing at once.  A blast of freezing air blew passed Tom—who hadn't even attempted to hide—when the ghost floated passed him.  Apparently, Tom had been holding his breath, for when the ghost passed he heaved an immense sigh of relief.

Just as quickly as the sounds in the hallway had faded, they began once more when the ghost continued to leave Tom's vicinity.  Only, now, Tom realized what the sound was.  Indeed, he had been hearing whisperings, but they were the whispers of neither humans nor ghosts.  The whispering that seemed to haunt Tom were those of the paintings in the corridor, which were avidly discussing what they (and Tom) had witnessed.

"The Bloody Baron!" one woman said to another.  "I told you he was making his way down this passage."

"Can you blame me for not believing you?" the other woman asked, annoyed.  "He barely leaves the first floor's Dark Passage, and he's _never_ come this way!"

Tom listened only half-heartedly as the two women continued their chattering concerning the Bloody Baron, until he decided he should continue to the library.  He slunk uneasily through the halls—even though he was anxious to see what would be done about the green skull, he couldn't help but imagine what would happen if he were caught.  The image of Hogwarts' irascible caretaker hung before his eyes like a veil.  Even worse was the thought of being caught by Professor Dumbledore.  If Hale caught Tom, he would be taken to Headmaster Dippet.  This caused Tom little worry—he could convince Dippet to believe any story he created… Dumbledore, on the other hand, seemed to perceive things about Tom that he himself didn't even realize.  And the man had authority in the school—more than any other teacher—and Tom had to admit it.

With a jolt, Tom found himself faced once more with the rear entrance of the library.  Decided the lure of the scenario that would unfold was more an opportunity than he could surpass, Tom pushed the door open the tiniest bit, and peaked into the cavernous room.

"…What could it mean?" came the apprehensive voice of Professor Dippet.

After a brief silence, Archibald Hale answered brusquely, "Foul play.  Them mangy kids're goin' through these dark books—they're planning on takin' over the school!"

"I'm not sure we can infer so much, Archibald," Professor Dumbledore answered, obviously concentrating greatly on the situation, no matter how lightly he had answered the caretaker.

"That's right," Professor Dippet interjected, seeming to try to prove to himself his confidence.  "In fact, some of these books have protection against any wandering eyes that may happen to read their pages.  Isn't it possible that this skull could have been created when book was open?"

"Even if that is the case, Armando, I'm not sure I'd be so secure in knowing that someone broke into the library and was reading books in the Restricted Section.  Besides, I'm not sure a book conjured this skull.  Most of the repelling charms on Restricted Section books emit noises to alert a staff member," Professor Dumbledore paused, faltering slightly.  "This almost seems as though it was protecting _someone_ rather than something."

Tom held his breath as he waited for the responses of the other two men.  Due to the fact that the library was flooded in the skull's light, Tom could easily see Headmaster Dippet's face, which changed from a poorly disguised anxious expression to that of one most at ease.

Jovially, Dippet clapped a hand on Professor Dumbledore's back.  "My friend, you read too much into a situation.  I distinctly remember Roberta Peck telling me of _this charm_—" he jabbed a finger at the green skull "—several years ago for a particularly nasty book… the title slips my mind, however."

"Indeed?" Professor Dumbledore asked skeptically.  "Well, perhaps.  Still, I ask that, in light of recent information, you don't take this lightly.  What are you planning to do with the skull?"

"Er… well, I'm not sure _how_ we can dispose of it.  I suppose you are correct, however.  For several days, the library will be off-limits to students."

"All right.  I'll inform the other professors first thing in the morning," Professor Dumbledore stated.

Gratefully, Professor Dippet said, "Thank you, Albus.  I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Professor Dumbledore answered.  With that, the two professors parted ways once more to leave Archibald Hale to grumble about the lack of respect students had.

Pensively, Professor Dumbledore began to walk passed the many shelves of books.  Abruptly, however, he paused.  He turned his head and gazed in Tom's direction.  Until that moment, Tom hadn't realized that he still held the door ajar, and was, therefore, in plain view.  Professor Dumbledore began to stride towards Tom, looking intently at a spot to Tom's right.  After no more than five steps, he stopped a final time, shook his head, and turned once more towards the main doors of the library.

Tom had been standing, frozen, to this spot neither inside nor outside the library.  Only when the three adults had left the room did he trust himself to close the door.  He then began considering why Professor Dumbledore punished him—the door had been open at least six inches, so Tom's peering countenance most assuredly had been visible.  Perhaps the professor had been protecting Tom?  He let out a huff of sarcastic laughter at the thought.  Based on what he'd heard, Dumbledore resented seeing Tom wander the halls freely in the _daylight_; heaven knows what he'd do if he saw Tom slinking through the dank passageways in the middle of the night.

A low, barely perceptible rumble caused Tom to return his thoughts to the castle and himself.  Because he was suddenly overcome by a feeling of utter exhaustion, Tom decided he'd consider Dumbledore's motives at a later time.  Feeling his eyes droop, Tom quickly made his way back to the Slytherin Dungeons to be engulfed by a blissfully dreamless sleep.

* * *

The next morning Tom woke with an emptiness in his heart that he quickly acknowledged as something he would have to get used to.  As though the magnitude of the events in the past was only just occurring to Tom, Gwendolyn consumed his every thought.  Silently, he wept.  He couldn't help but remember the times she had made life at the orphanage bearable with a kind word or an extra cookie.  More than anything, Tom needed a companion.  He needed a friend.  Gwendolyn had been everything to Tom.  Only in her death did he realize how precious she was.  Over and over, he remembered her last moments—lying, anonymous, in a dirty hospital with no one to love her except Tom.  His reverie was disrupted, however, when the sound of beating wings rippled through the air.

With a start, Tom recognized the bird as the one Dumbledore had called Wrion, which was perched nonchalantly on Tom's bed frame—merely looking at him.  Tom felt himself forget his troubles, and wonder vaguely about the bird.  Why had it chosen to follow him to Hogwarts?  Why had Tom never seen Wrion if he had belonged to Gwendolyn?  And, finally, what type of bird _was_ he?  Wrion looked rather like an owl, but… something was slightly off.

Wrion emitted a soft hoot, and Tom suddenly realized that his questions were irrelevant.  He suddenly felt stronger, emotionally, than he had in years.  It was as though thinking of Gwendolyn made him remember the cheerful times they had spent together rather than her untimely death.  It was as though he had discarded any unpleasant memories to be replaced by the joyful ones—happy memories that could be accessed in much the same manner as he had looked through Gwendolyn's box of trinkets.

Quietly, he pushed open his bed curtains, and greeted the day as he kicked his bare feet over the edge of his bed.

Thinking about nothing in particular, Tom dressed himself before leaving his dormitory and going to the common room.  He looked around the room for Letifer, but didn't see him.  Actually, he didn't see _anyone_ in the common room.  Only then did he notice the eerie silence that seemed to shroud the castle.  Hastily, he began to walk to the Great Hall.

The hush that had befallen the common room seemed to follow Tom the entire way to the Great Hall.  Even the clamor from the large dining hall that typically reverberated throughout the halls was mysteriously absent.  Warily, he turned the corner to look into the Great Hall.

The scenario that met his eyes was even more curious than Tom had thought.  In the back of his mind, Tom was sure that he had overslept, and everyone was in class.  However, the Great Hall was completely full—in fact, he had never seen so many students in there at one time.  In fact, the solemnity and reverence filling the room was nearly overwhelming.  Few students were eating the meals spread across the table, and even fewer were speaking.

Tom's eyes wandered to the Slytherin table, and he saw that many Slytherins were eating, and the few voices he heard were coming from that table.  Letifer caught Tom's eye, smirked, and motioned for Tom to join him and Max.

"What's going on?" Tom whispered as he slid into a seat next to Letifer.

"You won't believe it," he returned energetically.  "Grindelwald has struck again, but this time it was here in Britain—in a small town called Little Hangleton.  The teachers here haven't said anything about it yet, but news like this travels fast.  Parents are already owling Dippet to make sure we're all still _alive_," Letifer finished dramatically.  "Honestly, as though father would let Grindelwald strike here."

Tom looked around his fellow classmates and the professors, and noticed what emotion had been so poignant, but so hard to place.  It was defeat.

Continuing in a significantly lower voice, Letifer continued, "My father's right in his inner-circle, you know.  He works for the British Ministry of Magic, which means Grindelwald is somewhat dependant on my father."  Letifer puffed his chest importantly, but was sure to speak quietly enough that no one would hear him but Tom, "Father works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so he's in charge of the number of people to send to fight Grindelwald.  Obviously, he's going to keep as many people out of the situation as possible.  Father's quite interested in the dark arts," he continued fervently, "He's even encouraged me to learn a few spells.  I'll have to show you what I've learned sometime…"

He may have continued, but Tom suddenly found it hard to concentrate.  Amidst Letifer's rambling, Tom was sure he had heard the town 'Little Hangleton.'  The name seemed to tug on a memory, a memory that was just out of Tom's grasp—as though he had heard it as a small child, but had chosen to forget it.  Before Tom could brood on the subject, Headmaster Dippet rose stiffly from his seat to address the students.

"As I believe most of you know, there has been yet another attack—this time the entirely Muggle town, Little Hangleton was stricken.  A theory has arisen that suspects this attack to be the work of Grindelwald's supporters.  Many parents have owled me to request I close the school.  Indeed, many have _insisted_ I close the school.  However, my colleagues and myself firmly believe that Hogwarts is the safest place at this moment for _anyone_.  Though the situation is Little Hangleton is dire, witches and wizards from the Ministry of Magic have already arrived to lend their support to the Muggles.  However, despite the frenzied accusations being made, the Ministry witches and wizards have found nothing to suggest that—other than the fact that the attack was obviously of magical origins—Grindelwald is behind this attack."

For a moment he paused and waited for the murmuring to subside.  As soon as the room quieted, he continued, "As unfortunate as this situation has become, it has been generally agreed that Muggles outside Little Hangleton should not be informed of this incident, and that the Muggles living in Little Hangleton must have their minds modified to forget the matter," he cast a nervous, sidelong glance at Professor Dumbledore, whose normally placid demeanor was replaced by that of suppressed contempt.  "However, it has been _unanimously_ agreed that help should be given to the populace of Little Hangleton.  Professor Dumbledore himself has offered to chaperone a group of twenty students to lend their services in the devastated village.  Precautions have been taken to ensure that nothing of this sort can happen again in Little Hangleton."  In an undertone, he spoke to Professor Dumbledore, "Anything you'd like to add, Albus?"

Professor Dumbledore nodded to the headmaster, and rose gently from his chair.  "The group I take to Little Hangleton will be expected to help rebuild destroyed buildings as well as administer basic first aid.  We expect to be away for one month.  Please keep in mind that it will be very cold, and we'll be living under primitive circumstances.  Any _serious_ applicant must speak with me before Thursday."  Before sitting again, he said, in a softened tone, "Any interest will be considered, and I would eagerly agree to chaperone more than twenty students if sincere compassion is shown."

Despite the fact that the teachers appeared to have concluded their opinions of the matter, the students' chatter did resume as it would a normal day.  Instead, in the absence of the voices of authority, the silence Tom had noted to be so uncharacteristic of a full dining hall recommenced.

Tom was reaching for a pitcher of milk when Letifer spoke in a hushed voice, "What do you say?  Do you want to go?  Maybe we'll get to learn something _useful_.  Father can arrange a meeting with one of Gwendolyn's spies, I'll bet!"

"Meet a spy?" Ton asked, not expecting an answer.  "But Dumbledore is going—don't you think he'll keep a close watch on us?"

Letifer scoffed, "He wouldn't _dare_ mess with my father—I've told you what sort of influence he has.  Besides, isn't the risk sort of exciting?  Or are you too scared to do anything but study?"

Glowering, Tom spoke through gritted teeth, "I'm not scared—I do things besides study.  Dumbledore just…" As Tom began to trail off, Letifer interjected.

"Come on—let's do it."  With that, Letifer pushed his bowl of porridge away as he quickly rose from the table.

In a desperate attempt to buy more time to talk Letifer out of his idea, Tom grabbed the elbow of Letifer's robes, "Wait, Letifer!  We… we don't want to seem too… eager!  Let's wait until Transfiguration before we tell him we're going."

Letifer gave Tom a skeptical look, but lowered himself, conceding.  "Fine, we'll do it after lunch."

The remainder of breakfast passed in reverent silence, making Tom feel that classes couldn't begin soon enough.

* * *

The minutes, which, during breakfast, seemed to crawl slowly along, rapidly spun themselves into hours once classes began.  No matter how he wished he could disappear from the earth, Tom reluctantly realized that his feet were leading him towards the large Transfiguration room, and he had been unable to persuade Letifer to abandon the idea of traveling to Little Hangleton.

"Good afternoon, class," Professor Dumbledore said kindly, if not wearily.  Though a smile spread itself across his face, Professor Dumbledore's eyes betrayed him to show that melancholy thoughts plagued his mind.  "Before we begin class, I'd like to ask whether or not anyone is interested in going with me to Little Hangleton?  Though there will be considerable work involved, I believe it will be an excellent learning experience."

A girl with brown hair from Hufflepuff raised her hand before asking, "Professor, isn't there a danger that whoever caused this mess will come back?"

Professor Dumbledore answered with only a slight hesitation, "Both Professor Dippet and myself feel that the area surrounding Little Hangleton has been sufficiently secured by Ministry wizards, who have worked round the clock to provide the village with an anti-dark magic spell."

The Hufflepuff girl nodded her head, but stated, "Still, I don't think _I'd_ ever go."

Smiling kindly, Professor Dumbledore said, "That's fine, Beth.  Is there anyone else interested?"

Two hands rose slowly into the air.

"Ah, wonderful," the professor exclaimed.  With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a piece of parchment and a pen and bottle of ink.  As he wrote, he muttered, "Letifer Malfoy, Slytherin, and Scott Dricken, Hufflepuff…"

Before he turned his head, Tom could feel Letifer's eyes nearly pierce his skin.

"Raise your hand, Riddle!" Letifer hissed.

"Letifer, this is a bad idea—look who's going:  Dumbledore _and_ Scott," Tom pled.

Nearly disgusted, Letifer spat, "So now you're afraid of _Scott Dricken_?"

Grimacing, Tom said, "Listen, I know something about Scott—"

"Enough.  You're going," Letifer interjected.  In one swift movement, Letifer grasped his wand, pointed it at Tom, and murmured, "_Imperio_."

A sensation unlike any he'd experienced spread through Tom.  Utter calmness filled his mind, and Tom found himself laughing inwardly at his paranoia.  What was he afraid of, really?  Scott?  The very idea was laughable—the boy was a disaster.  And Dumbledore?  Sure, the man was powerful, but he had no _real_ authority.  After all, Armando Dippet was the headmaster; Albus Dumbledore was nothing but a lowly Transfiguration professor.

Suddenly, Tom felt his right arm move and be lifted into the air, as if by some unseen force.  Though the thought of struggling crossed his mind, Tom decided that perhaps it was for the best that he went to Little Hangleton.

In the same manner that his arm had risen, words suddenly began to spill from Tom's mouth, "I'd like to go to Little Hangleton, too."

Now that he was getting used to the idea, Tom realized he _did_ want to go to Little Hangleton.

"…And Tom Riddle, Slytherin," Professor Dumbledore responded, jotting the name on his parchment.  "We shall depart promptly at nine o'clock on Saturday for Little Hangleton.  You shall be expected to get to Hogsmeade station on your own accord.  However, your luggage may be left in your common rooms to be delivered to the train…"

Uncertainty seemed to pool in Tom's stomach and spread outward.  How could he have volunteered to go to Little Hangleton?  He knew the dangers.  Fearfully, Tom shot a glance at Letifer, whose face bore an extremely smug expression.

"What did you do?" Tom hissed below his breath.

"What do you mean?" Letifer returned in—what he tried to make—an innocent tone.

  An exasperated sigh escaped Tom's lips, and he decided to drop the subject, and concentrate on Professor Dumbledore, who was explaining the procedure of the test the class would be taking in a few moments.

Before long, the class was turning teacups into snails, though many students were having troubles.

"My snail is leaving a trail of tea," Letifer whined.

"Then perhaps you're performing the spell incorrectly," Tom returned coolly.

"Care to help?" Letifer implored.

"Not until you tell me why I volunteered to go to Little Hangleton," Tom stated adamantly.

Letifer laughed, "Forget about it, Riddle.  It's out of your league."

Through gritted teeth, eyes never leaving his snail slowly turning circles on the large wooden table, Tom whispered, "Try me."

Letifer's smirk slowly disappeared from his face, and he nodded silently.  "Fine.  I cast a spell that allowed me to control your actions temporarily."

This statement left Tom aghast.  It was common knowledge that Letifer had never been overly talented in magic—every Slytherin and first year was aware that Tom was the brain of his small group of friends.

Tom eyebrows drew together and he turned to face Letifer.  "How?" he breathed.

Letifer's lips curled into a grin and he spoke so lowly that Tom felt himself lean closer so he could hear him, "Dark magic.  Father has already taught me the three Unforgivable Curses."  Before Tom even had time to ask what the Unforgivable Curses were, Letifer quickly continued, having turned back to his malfunctioning snail, "Of course, Father's forbidden me from telling anyone else from doing them—they're illegal, you know."

Forgetting completely that he was mad at Letifer, Tom asked, "You say there are three?  What do the others do?"

Realizing Tom was completely relying on him to explain these Curses, Letifer's grin grew, though he remained silent.

Remembering, suddenly, his impatience for Letifer, Tom gave up, "Fine!  Forget I asked."

As though he were preparing to unleash a great secret, Letifer said, "No, I'll tell you.  The three curses are the Cruciatus Curse_,_ the Imperius Curse_, _and _Adavra Kedavra_—the killing curse."

Tom was wholly intrigued.  His snail, having been left to its own devices, fell, unbeknownst to Tom, to the floor.  Hungrily, Tom asked, "Cruciatus?  Imperius?  What do they do?"

As though the subject bored him, Letifer waved a hand at the question, "The Imperius curse was what I cast on you a moment ago—I could have forced you to do somersaults around the classroom if I had wanted to.  You didn't even resist!  The Cruciatus Curse is a most painful torture-device.  Some people who are subject to it even go mad because of the pain."

Before Tom had the chance to ask further questions, a bell sounded to announce the conclusion of class.

"Please bring your snails to the front of the classroom, and place it in the box labeled with your name—I shall grade them before the next class period," Professor Dumbledore announced.

"Oh, no," Tom said upon realizing his snail was nowhere in sight.  Without hesitation, he flopped onto the floor to search for the elusive creature.  To his dismay, he found the snail had shattered.  Cradling the broken pieces in his hands, Tom quickly rose to his feet.

"Ouch!" He exclaimed, and dropped his snail once more when his hands, unconsciously, flew to his throbbing forehead.

"Sorry," Tom heard a boy's voice say.  Upon realizing that his eyes were squeezed shut, Tom opened them to see Scott Dricken standing before him, rubbing his elbow.

Without saying a word, Tom stooped once more to collect the pieces of his now unrecognizable snail.  When he stood once more—carefully, this time—he saw that Scott had barely moved, and was looking at Tom.

Somewhat disconcerted, Tom pushed passed Scott, and the two exchanged equally cold glares.

"Professor, I've had a bit of an accident," Tom said as he approached the Transfiguration professor.

Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes carefully assessed the damage.  "Ah, yes, these snails must be handled with extreme care—because they were transfigured from teacups, they break as easily as porcelain."

"Do you… still want me to turn this in?" Tom asked, realizing he would most likely receive failing marks on this project.

Professor Dumbledore's eyes scrutinized Tom for several, silent, minutes before he said, "No, Tom, that won't be necessary."

Feeling hope drain from his body, Tom slowly turned to leave the large room.

"Wait a moment, Tom," Professor Dumbledore said.  "Or are you not interested in hearing the conditions of your retake of this test?"

Pleased, Tom faced Professor Dumbledore again, "I can retake the test?"

Professor Dumbledore nodded, "You may.  However, it will not be during class.  Perhaps you could stop by after you finish with your lessons today?"

"Sure," Tom answered, grateful that he would have another chance at the test.

"I shall expect to see you then.  Good afternoon, Tom."

"Bye," Tom said, retreating to the corridor outside the Transfiguration room.

Upon reaching the large doorway, Tom nearly walked into Letifer, who was standing against the roughly hewn wall, waiting for Tom.

"What was that all about?" Letifer drawled, looking intently at Tom, while he stood with his arms firmly crossed.

"Professor Dumbledore is allowing me to take today's test again, since my project shattered," Tom answered simply.

Skeptically, Letifer squinted his eyes to glare at Tom; "You didn't try to get out of the Hangleton trip, then?"

Tom merely rolled his eyes, and began to stride towards the Slytherin dungeons, leaving Letifer to stand outside Professor Dumbledore's classroom.

~*~*~

Exactly two hours after leaving Transfiguration, Tom arrived once more, his wand in tow.

"Professor?" He asked, looking around the empty room.

A muffled, "I'm right here," greeted his ears.  Seconds later, Professor Dumbledore, whose auburn beard and hair were coated in a layer of dust, giving him a wise, aged appearance, appeared from a closet Tom had never noticed before.

"I'm terribly sorry about all this," the professor said, patting the dust away from his beard and hair.  "For your test, you won't be transfiguring a teacup into a snail, but you _will be transfiguring this," he held a piece of finely woven rope, "into a snake."_

Tom's head snapped from looking at the dangling piece of rope to look into Professor Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes.  In vain, Tom searched Professor Dumbledore's eyes for any hint as to why the professor had chosen this assignment.  Surely he couldn't know about Tom's ability to converse with snakes…

"…I said, you may begin, Tom," the voice of Professor Dumbledore said, pulling Tom from his thoughts.

"Yes, sir," Tom said, sitting at a table with the length of rope before him.

With little difficulty, Tom was able to transfigure the rope.  However, he was so preoccupied with the worry that Professor Dumbledore may, perhaps, discover something about Tom he wouldn't want others to know, Tom barely noticed when the snake spoke.

"Thankss," it said, as it began slithering away from Tom.

"Stop!" Tom whispered.

The snake obeyed.

Gently, Tom scooped the small figure into his hands, and began to carry it towards Professor Dumbledore's desk.  Alarmingly, Professor Dumbledore's gaze was unwavering as he examined Tom.

"Er—here's my snake…"

"Thank you, Tom.  Please, put it in the case with the snails," Professor Dumbledore said, his voice strangely faraway.  "You're free to go…"

Without hesitation, Tom strode purposefully away from, what was becoming, the insidious Transfiguration room.

_To be continued…_

I wanted to be the first to apologize profusely to all my lovely reviewers—I really didn't expect to have so little time to write this past month or so.  I also had a sort of block against this chapter, so it took even longer than it might have.  However, I know exactly what's going to happen in the following chapter, so it shan't take nearly so long to get it out to be read, I absolutely promise!  I hope everyone had pleasant holidays; I think we all needed a nice break!  Now, onto my 'thank you's (which, I'm afraid to say, are rather short—just know that there's really no way for me to thank you all enough)…

**WhetherRose**:  First and foremost, I wanted to say that I hope you are able to return to us at fanfiction.net soon!  You're such a splendid writer and reviewer and a wonderful person.  Your reviews are enough to brighten anyone's day—and I'm sure many authors would agree with me.  I wish for nothing more than you to have time to do get completely well, and to have time to do the things you enjoy doing.  Just know that you're in my thoughts!__

**T.H**:  Why, hello!  Thanks bunches for leaving a review—I know what it's like to have such small amounts of free time…  Ugh, it's no fun.  Anyway, thanks for the review—I really appreciate that you notice little things about Tom's emotions as well as the characters like Mr. McFarland and Letifer; reviews like those really make writing worthwhile.  Also, I understand you having to put off reading Les Mis—against my wishes, I've had to do the same.  Where's free time when we all need it so desperately?

**Hollie**:  Hollie!  Your newest chapter was absolutely *spectacular*!  I loved it!  It was most definitely worth the wait.  Anywho, thanks so much for the reviews—I'm extremely pleased that I've began reading this story (though I know you've still got a few chapters to go before you'll read this!).

**QuietOne**:  First of all, thanks so much for the reviews—I was so happy to get a couple of new readers recently!  Anyway, your review made me blush…  I didn't ever explain why Tom was able to use magic outside of school—and you caught it!  Oops.  Just for the sake of my dignity, lets say that he was able to use it because it was an emergency ;) .  Your reviews are wonderful—I love them!

**Pinefresh**:  Thanks for your reviews.  I'm glad you like my Dio Vesper spell as well as my idea for how the Dark Mark may have been conjured—I really enjoy trying to think of spells and liked writing the entire library scene.  Thanks again!

**Serina**:  Thanks so much for your reviews!  I really appreciate that you write what you like as well as *why*.  Also, you wrote that Tom told Letifer that Gwendolyn was a witch—there must have just been a small misunderstanding because of the way I wrote it.  Actually, when Letifer asks Tom whether Gwendolyn was a witch, Tom shakes his head to say 'no.' I hope I sort of cleared that up for you!  Oh, and reviewing your story was no problem—I've been checking back quite often to see whether you've updated (I can't wait for a new chapter).  Thanks again!

**Also, thanks to**:  Bonita Knows All, OceanSun, Kitty Nicoe, SunLight, Babyphatcat13, HarryPotterMagic32, S. Nicolai, my dad, Melissa, Sara Minks, and Azalais Malfoy for leaving reviews!


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